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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935066">Fairest Creatures</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anakletos/pseuds/Anakletos'>Anakletos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Snarry AUctoberfest 2020, Swan Harry Potter, Swans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:15:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,160</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anakletos/pseuds/Anakletos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry leads a simple and contented life. He sleeps, he eats, he swims in the lake, and wanders around the park, watching the people. He is a bit lonely, but making friends is hard, let alone finding a mate. The task might just be taken out of his hands, however, because the park he loves so much holds a secret…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Snarry AUctoberfest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fairest Creatures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A big thank you to the betas of this fic, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faelyee/works">Lee</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilaDiurne/works">Lila.</a><br/>This fic is based on my own prompt, number 107.</p>
<p> <br/></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Prologue</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
<em><br/>
Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,<br/>
I sat a-weeping: in the whole wide world<br/>
There was no one to ask me why I wept-<br/>
And so I kept<br/>
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears<br/>
Cold as my fears.<br/>
</em> Endymion, Book IV</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>The keeper’s hut is located in the south area of Fawkes Park, near a side entrance now closed to the public. It rests on top of a bumpy patch of grass, half-covered by birch trees. Rumour has it that it’s owned by an elf or some otherworldly creature, and when people do finally take a good look at the massive keeper, they are not disappointed. Said massive man, six feet tall, with a long brown coat and dark matte boots, is one of the park’s creatures: gentle, unobtrusive, though not one people would normally pet. Still, he wouldn’t mind being fed some fancy homemade food once in a while. Hagrid – that’s his name – is now walking swiftly toward a small hut, shoes squeaking on the wet pavement. In one of his hands, he currently holds an impressive bundle of jangling keys, whose doors they all open he is not quite sure himself. Having worked in the park for the past twenty years, some things are still a mystery to him.  </p>
<p>The man dabs his forehead with a napkin, and though the air outside is cold, he is sweating from a previous ordeal. When he enters the hut – after inserting and juggling one key then the next three – the main door opens with a loud squeak, deafening in the silent park. As Hagrid reaches the threshold, he turns just in time to see a squirrel scurrying and then climbing on a tree. When inside, the man closes the door behind him with his foot and turns the light on, sighing in relief.</p>
<p>This place feels more like home than anywhere else. It also helps that he moved his most beloved pieces of furniture in this little hut, because he spends more time here than at home. He has been working as the park’s guardian for two decades now and knows this little green gem like the back of his hand, or not <em> quite, </em> he supposes, as there’s still the tiny detail of the secret pond’s legend. <em> Nonsense, </em>he thinks, shaking his head to clear his mind of such things. Hagrid is not normally one to indulge in legends but he can admit his frustration. In all his daily wanderings he hasn’t yet stumbled upon it.</p>
<p>He sighs as he sits on his plush chair, taking a few moments to collect his thoughts before he has to start preparing for the day ahead. The clock on top of the closed hearth says it’s a little after six, and the park won’t open till eight. His stomach rumbles loudly, making him first gasp and then laugh delighted, if not as uproariously. He stands with a grunt, making his way into the small kitchenette where he turns the gas handle and puts the kettle to boil. In his haste to catch his train, he forgot to have breakfast. Good thing that his <em> liveable quarters, </em>as Mr Fudge likes to call them, are warm and tall enough for him to stand without hitting his head on the ceiling, and are fully equipped for him to be comfortable.</p>
<p>As he fixes himself some canned beans and toast, he remembers that today the gardener will come to plant some petunias in the picnic area near the statue. Hagrid almost scalds his tongue as he recounts his last encounter with the unpleasant and grumpy Filch.</p>
<p>He stretches his long limbs lazily, a jaw-cracking yawn making its way in between a bushy beard and whiskers.</p>
<p>“Better get ter werk,” he grumbles, after sticking dirty utensils in the sink.</p>
<p>He takes out a rubbish bag, some pruning shears – just to annoy Filch – and his handy trash pliers. He whistles as he closes the door of the hut behind him, walking toward the main path, following the direction to the centre of the park where he’ll open the main door to the gardener.</p>
<p>As the thick forest of thin silver birch trees dissipates, Hagrid’s vision is immediately assaulted by tall, majestic English oaks, and when he <em> finally </em> hears and smells the water, he starts to walk faster. He turns to the left, taking a short path where the green grass gets replaced by a wet soil, covered in dry leaves and twigs. There, half shadowed under an alder on the steep bank, a swan is waking up from sleep. He recognises the colouring of a juvenile mute swan, the plumage’s tips a dark brown. The swan uncurls its neck from where it rested on its body after being woken up by the crunching sound of boots. The deep lightning scar is unmistakable between the swan’s eyes and the man’s heart leaps in his throat.  </p>
<p>“’Arry!” greets Hagrid joyfully, moving closer to get a better look at it.</p>
<p>The young swan in question makes a snorting sound, almost touching the shore with its neck. It wiggles its bum as it approaches, peering curiously at the known human.</p>
<p>“Long time no see,” adds the man, kneeling on the grass to look at the swan more closely.</p>
<p>He has come to care deeply for this boy. Since it was a little cygnet found alone and cold in a nearby pond, peeping pitifully because it couldn’t find his parents. There had been crusted blood in between the eyes, probably from when it cut itself with a fishing hook. Hagrid, as much as he devoured books about wildlife, was no expert, so he contacted his friend Aberforth, who worked for a swan rescue agency. Together, with the help of a net, they caught the little fellow. The weeks that followed were the most difficult of Hagrid’s life. He would call his friend day and night to get updates on the little one. Its condition was now stable. The cygnet was nice and warm in a cage with a soft bed, and when the wound healed completely, it got to take its first worry-free paddle in the little pool. Despite being well taken care of, the optimal solution for the cygnet was to reunite it with its parents, who were probably out there looking. Aberforth’s team caught sight of some swan couples in the area, and hoped against hope the swans they came across were the cygnet’s parents. But that hope was in vain. The cygnet was not accepted or recognised by any of those swans, and with regret, they brought it back to its new home, where it flourished till it was old enough to be put back in the wild.</p>
<p><em> And here it is, </em>muses Hagrid, who hasn’t seen Harry for days, and like the mother hen that he is, was getting worried. He knows he shouldn’t coddle the swan, but he can’t help showing his affection. Aberforth always tells him that by doing so he’ll risk causing some real harm to the bird as it grows, because it’ll be almost completely dependent and too trusting of humans. Hagrid rolls his eyes at that, but understands the warning and hushed tone. He reduced the contact with the swan when his friend first mentioned the possibility and he now visits whenever he can, sometimes just looking from afar.</p>
<p>But it is here just now, drinking, completely unconcerned. If Hagrid didn’t know better, he would think Harry looks a bit smug about it. But he is getting ridiculous. This is <em> just </em> a swan, after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After seeing Harry, Hagrid is in a relatively good mood. He whistles as he walks by the shore, following the swan with his eyes as it submerges its whole neck underwater, probably to feed off some aquatic plant. With its fluffy bum poking out, it makes for a funny image, so ordinary that Hagrid laughs. When he finally reaches the main entrance, he is still dabbing at his eyes with his jacket.</p>
<p>Filch glares at him from behind the closed gate. Hagrid grunts, already annoyed.</p>
<p>“Open up, oaf,” sneers the man, shaking the bars of the gate.</p>
<p>Hagrid observes some of the keys he holds in his palm. He is about to insert a sturdy, thick key when the bars get shaken with more strength.</p>
<p>“Don’t you see it’s the long one with the bow? Are you really that thick?” Filch slips his hand between the bars, grabbing Hagrid’s wrist. He doesn’t manage to wrap his whole hand, but he still squeezes. Hard. “Stop your stupid games or I’ll have you sacked,” he says with his grating voice.</p>
<p>Hagrid scoffs at that. “Are yeh quite done?”</p>
<p>The man’s hair falls flat and dull on his thin, pointy face, and he moves it out of the way with a gnarled, trembling hand.</p>
<p>Filch is older than he is, and Hagrid can admit to himself that he can’t quite wait for retirement. Mr Fudge assured him he could keep the hut for himself when the time comes and have his substitute use the shed. But what about Filch? The man is unpleasant and unkind, but he is certainly eligible to retire now. How old is he, anyway? Hagrid will bring it up to the Council at the next meeting.</p>
<p>He opens the gate with a sigh, an ominous rattle greeting Filch as he enters.</p>
<p>“Can’t you oil it up? It’s not as if you are doing something important,” the man says as Hagrid locks the gate so that no one else can enter the park.</p>
<p>“Later,” sighs Hagrid, taking the man’s tote bag without much prompting. It weighs a ton, but Hagrid is happy to carry the extra weight, otherwise Filch will complain that he is old and tired, and that <em> people </em>just stare dumbly without lending a hand.</p>
<p>“Suit yourself,” the man grumbles instead, walking slowly toward the main area, where they are greeted by the concrete statue of a twinkling bearded man in his early thirties.</p>
<p>The man is dressed sharply in a three-piece suit: a coat with a matching checked waistcoat and rumpled trousers. He is holding a watch, whose chain hangs from his waistcoat, and has the most beaming and contented smile. While it gives the impression he is staring down at you, to the attentive looker he is actually looking far off, over a thick bush. The sign reads “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, 1881-1913.”</p>
<p>Filch is already kneeling, his legs cracking as he does. He digs into the soil with his hands, feeling the texture between his fingers. “Too wet!” he barks, already standing. Hagrid is half listening, staring intently at the statue.</p>
<p>“Give over my bag!”</p>
<p>Hagrid turns, alarmed, and sees Filch standing on a nearby patch of grass, scoffing impatiently. Hagrid walks the few steps and hands him the bag. Filch grumbles to himself as he opens it to rummage inside. “I’ll plant honeysuckle, lavender and the likes. Too wet for petunias. Those stupid people…where are the fucking seeds!” he spats impatiently, emptying the content of his bag on the grass. A few tins bump into each other with a small clatter, bouncing off to the side near Hagrid’s boots. He picks them up, curious. The tins are in golden colours, with the muzzle of a white cat printed on them. It’s licking its whiskers, looking content.</p>
<p>“Why do yeh have those aroun’?”</p>
<p>Filch stands so abruptly Hagrid’s ligaments ache for him.  </p>
<p>“Don’t touch them!” The man hisses, snatching the tins from Hagrid’s hands and putting them back in his bag.</p>
<p>Hagrid raises his hands in what he hopes is a non-threatening gesture. “Alrigh’. I’ll leave yeh ter it.”</p>
<p>It’s almost eight when Filch knocks on Hagrid’s door, dirt on his forehead and under his nails. His hair is sticking to his neck, cheeks flushed from exertion. He looks like a drawing of the lonely Ebenezer Scrooge, all pointy edges and narrowed eyes. Hagrid is about to fetch him some tea, when the man brusquely interrupts that he has important business in town. Hagrid nods, opening the gates for him and seeing him go. He has known this man for over fifteen years, but knows nothing about him. He would even dare call him a friend if the man wasn’t within hearing distance. But it’s late now, he has a park to prepare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lavender is hopping on her legs, warming up her hands and then stretching them above her head and on both sides. She opted for long leggings today, because the day is quite chilly. She is wearing a pink hoodie, a short-sleeved t-shirt underneath. One of her running shoes has a small hole on the front, but with the black socks it’s almost unnoticeable. She is patiently waiting in front of the main gates of Fawkes Park, scrolling through her playlists on her phone to find the most suitable for today’s mood. It’s her day off, so she doesn’t have to rush with her run. She can spend some time regaining her strength and breath, strolling through the numerous paths, while taking in all the scenarios. Though she is no art expert, this park would make for a great painting.</p>
<p>She hums contentedly when she finds the perfect song to listen to while she waits. It’s from a film she saw a while ago at the theatre with Dean, and she fell in love with it. The soundtrack brings her back to the scenes without her having to watch the film all over again. She doesn’t have much time these days.</p>
<p>Lost in thought, she touches a brass flower intricately entwined on one of the gate’s bars. It’s cold to the touch, and she hisses, blinking. Lavender checks the time. It’s five to nine, but the keeper is nowhere to be seen. He would normally roam in the area, cleaning the main path of fallen leaves, but today he probably thought to take it easy. Her finger twitching, she sincerely hopes he has not forgotten to open up the park. She wouldn’t know who to call if that were the case, and she doesn’t think she has much credit on her phone to begin with, to make such a phone call. She has just downloaded a new series while on the bus, and immediately after, a message popped up, saying her credit was very low.</p>
<p>She checks her phone again and fears he won’t open at all today. What are the odds?</p>
<p>Just then the keeper appears, out of breath. He smiles politely at her and tells her, with his usual mumble, that he had some sort of issues with an animal. A bird, she thinks. She nods, quickly, her eyes swimming with the effort.</p>
<p>“That’s great that you were there, then!” she says, smiling up at him.</p>
<p>The man huffs, embarrassed. “That’s me job,” he mumbles, shrugging off her compliment.</p>
<p>She hums. “Well, open up then!” she says, with a hint of impatience, holding the bars with her hands.</p>
<p>Hagrid laughs, but does as she asks, letting the gates open and tying the bars to the pillars so that they don’t slam.</p>
<p>He is saying something to her, but she has her back to him and doesn’t hear anything over the noise of the music.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A young man, casually dressed, is sitting on a bench facing the lake, one hand holding a pushchair with a sleeping baby inside. He is talking on the phone, his left hand gripping the armrest tightly as the conversation goes on. He swallows as he nods, blinking rapidly. A giant man walking past him kneels on one leg on the shore. A few geese honk and move out of the way as a brownish swan approaches.</p>
<p>The man discreetly moves the pushchair out of the way and stands, looking nowhere in particular. “Why do you say that?” His voice cracks as he speaks, and he clears his throat. The baby is lazily blinking back at him and he bites his lips hard, doing everything not to sob.</p>
<p>“Can I ca- can I call you later? Please?” He lowers his voice because the giant man has now turned, a frown on his face. He is walking toward him, but the young man walks swiftly toward the exit, his heart in his throat. What did that brute want?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>An elderly lady is sitting on a bench, shadowed under an oak tree. A book is resting on her lap, ready to be opened. She caresses the worn hardcover, fingers slightly curling as she does. A squirrel appears beside her, after scurrying down from the above tree, nose twitching and paws resting on the pavement as it cautiously comes closer. Its back is slightly curved, ready to bolt at any second but the lady, aware of it, makes slow, measured movements. She takes out and opens a plastic container from her bag and, looking around subtly, drops a grape on the grass under her bench.</p>
<p>“Come on, little darling,” she wheezes as the squirrel takes its time observing the grape from all angles. “I have more for your friends,” she adds, with a gentler tone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knows what walking means, but the majority of the things he knows through his observations are simply free notions and concepts devoid of any names. There’s no language he has that categorises things, desperately needing the reassurance that all things have a name and terribly afraid of the things which don’t. He uses sounds but he doesn’t have names for what they are called, he follows his instincts for everything. Instinct is the part of him that knows and suggests things, to keep him safe.</p>
<p>That’s how he knows the land is dangerous, because there are four-legged creatures that make the most annoying barking noises. They are so dangerous that humans hold them with a collar around their necks and scream at them to behave. If someone tried to do the same to him, Harry would definitely peck them hard on their skin and see if they like it. He has such a beautiful long neck, he doesn’t need a collar to make it better. He knows everyone is in awe of it. Even the short-necked swans – which are not actually called that, but Harry doesn’t know this – move out of the way when he approaches, so that they can have a good look at his neck. He knows it is true because they make a honking noise, probably in awe.</p>
<p>He addresses himself as he, because of his growing knob, the bigger stature and a thicker neck. He is called a cob, not a pen. Though he doesn’t have such difficult concepts. He just is. But the very big human calls him Harry, and he got attached to the name, so he’ll go with that. Harry. He hopes it means something like long-necked or he’ll be very disappointed.</p>
<p>He is paddling back toward his favourite place under the alder – where delicious pondweed grows in big quantities – when he sees the figure. His bill is pointing straight ahead and with his left eye he can perfectly see the human, walking swiftly back and forth, undecided.</p>
<p>He is used to seeing humans, but he never saw them venturing in this area of the park. Humans are lazy, and will only stay where they can comfortably sit and never where the soil is wet and brown like it is here.</p>
<p>But this man, despite the tightly coiled limbs and eyes blinking rapidly at the bright sun, has shoulders sagging in relief as he finds himself surrounded by trees. He’s looking around, noticing the lack of benches with a sour expression on his face, but when his eyes finally land on Harry, he stops short in his tracks, and with a slow-moving hand – as if afraid Harry will flee – takes a thin, rectangular object and snaps what Harry calls a human visual remembrance.</p>
<p>Now, here’s the thing. Harry doesn’t really mind the attention, he’s used to humans openly staring and pointing at him, has seen plenty of those rectangular objects and heard metallic clicking sounds, so he knows what is happening here. The man will look some more, drop a few bread crumbs his way and snap more of those human remembrances so that he’ll look grand feeding a swan.</p>
<p>Humans like to surround themselves with beauty, have places where they store it, closely guarded. They like animals that are cute or that are funny, possibly both, and will do everything to make themselves feel and look better. That’s why they snap, because the sole memory is not enough and they like to consume it, burn it down, ruin it. They like to think they are useful and kind, even when they aren’t. And feeding animals is the resulting consequence of their desires.</p>
<p>Harry likes food, especially on water, specifically underwater. But he also loves the attention. It’s exhausting to be him.</p>
<p>Humans are always feeding him bread, whole wheat, seeded, toasted, salty, chewy, crunchy bread. The giant man is always screaming at the top of his lungs to make people stop, has signs put out near the shores, and he’s quite happy to chase kids around when they don’t listen. But mostly he worries about what will happen to Harry’s body if he’s constantly fed bread. Harry understands, kind of. But he’ll also have a chunk of bread off the books, every once in a while. Life is all about balance.</p>
<p>Being one of the few swans in the lake, he keeps mostly to himself. There is a mated couple, which is a bit more sceptical of humans than he is. Harry knows he shouldn’t be alone for long, he’s to find a flock of non-breeding swans where to find a mate. But he has still growing to do, his plumage’s colour proves it.</p>
<p>A crunching noise alerts Harry that the man is now moving, kneeling on the same spot the giant man knelt early today.</p>
<p>“Hello,” the man says, with a measured, gentle tone. The voice is warm, though not as deep and menacing as Harry would expect. It’s a bit scratchy around the edges, like the bitten off shore that envelops the lukewarm body of water Harry is paddling in. The man keeps staring but doesn’t add anything else, nor does he take more snaps.</p>
<p>Harry moves away from the shore and is quickly distracted by a rowboat, and by the promise of boiled carrots. He doesn’t know if the man is still there, his mind otherwise occupied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second day, the man does more than talking, he <em> reads. </em>Harry has no idea what he is blabbering about, but he seems very much absorbed in what he is doing. If it weren’t for the moving hand in front of his face to shoo away gnats, and for the moving lips, Harry would think him asleep. When the man finally shuts the book, he looks straight at him with a pensive expression on his face. Then Harry hears a small clink and the next moment something flies into his peripheral vision and drops to the ground. Harry curls his neck to see it better, and it looks like food. He begrudgingly swims toward the bank and starts his awkward waddle on land. He stretches his neck and grabs the piece of food, grinding it in his mouth. He raises one of his legs, waiting for more pieces to drop.</p>
<p>The man looks shocked for a moment, then frowns at the raised leg. “Are you hurt?” he asks, walking a few steps. Harry hops on one leg, ready to get back in water in case the man comes too close.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t, he raises his hands in what is probably a non-threatening gesture, making lip-smacking sounds that are supposed to reassure Harry, but which he only finds incredibly stupid.</p>
<p>This time they are interrupted by the giant, who manages to scare the man. The giant looks from the man to Harry and his frown turns into a glare when he sees the plastic container.</p>
<p>“Were yeh feedin’ ‘im?” he barks.</p>
<p>The man, if it were even possible, stands up straighter at the warning tone, hands twitching. He stares at the giant, looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes, I was, what of it?” he says, with a clipped tone, crossing his arms.</p>
<p>Hagrid glares. “'e don’t need food, he has it,” says the giant scratching his beard.</p>
<p><em>"He?” </em> asks the man with astonishment. If it’s referred to the peculiar pronoun used instead of the regular <em> it, </em>or at the revealed sex of the swan, it is not quite sure.</p>
<p>The giant quirks his lips, looking the man up and down. The man lifts his chin as he waits for whatever the giant has to say. “'Arry,” Hagrid confides, much to the man's raised eyebrows.</p>
<p>Harry, who has now realised no more food is forthcoming, is back in the water. Both men turn at the light splash, with respectively a fond and a curious expression on their faces.</p>
<p>“Harry?” he asks, shaking his head. “Is this a name fi–?”</p>
<p>“It is,” grunts Hagrid, interrupting him.</p>
<p>The man sighs, shrugging. “Harry,” he repeats, tasting the syllables on his tongue. He makes a non-committal sound, shakes his head and smiles. “It’s a lovely name,” he says gently, to reconcile with the tone used before.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” the giant agrees, staring off at the lake. Then he laughs, making the man turn too. Harry is now opening his feathers, collecting water with his bill.</p>
<p>“What is it –" the giant looks pointedly at the man as he speaks, “is <em> he… ” </em>he corrects, with a small sigh, “… doing?”</p>
<p>“Washin'.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” The man looks at his wrist, belatedly realising he doesn’t have a watch there. He clears his throat, removing invisible wrinkles from his clothes. “I should be on my way.”</p>
<p> The giant nods, yawning widely. “Goodbye, sir.”</p>
<p>“Goodbye,” says the man, blinking. He fetches his things and walks away, turning his head one second to search the swan with his eyes, but it’s already gone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third day, someone is calling him. He doesn’t understand human sounds, but he is familiar with this one word and knows it means <em> him. </em> He is coming up after having submerged his whole neck to nibble at some delicious plant, when he hears it. It’s a wispy, hissed sound that catches his attention, a <em> psst </em>followed by that word he knows so well, pronounced by a deep and mellow voice.</p>
<p>Harry paddles back near the shore, but doesn’t approach. He sees the man through his peripheral vision, but waits for food that doesn’t come.</p>
<p>A duck is preening its feathers on land, a few pigeons walk nearby, bobbing their heads as they go. The man is casually resting against a thin tree, eyes closed. He is breathing noisily, as if he just ran a marathon. His clothes are wrinkled but not sweaty.</p>
<p><em> There, </em> another vibration of chapped lips and that sound again, pronounced ever so slowly with a breathy murmur. <em> Harry, </em>it says, with a hesitant cadence.</p>
<p>Harry curls his neck to the left and looks, recognising the figure. Tiny details of the leaves, small insects flying around, dust and pollen being raised by the wind. He also notices the pattern on the man’s shirt, all straight vertical lines parallel with the tree he is leaning against. He takes in all the surrounding scenery, dyed with a bluish tint.</p>
<p>The man moves, raises his chin as he looks at him, birds scurrying away as he passes them by. He curls and uncurls his hands, arms crossed. He looks unsure of himself, awkwardly waiting for an animal’s response to his call.</p>
<p>Harry approaches, relieving him from his misery. He swims toward the shore, flapping and stretching his wings as he waddles on land. He is not facing the man, but can perfectly see him on his left, just as he sees the lake on his right.</p>
<p>Harry is a lone swan, though he knows he shouldn’t be. He never had a normal upbringing, didn’t have parents to kick him out of the nest, nor many interactions with other swans. He is young, and while instincts help, he knows he can’t be alone for long. Swans are social creatures. They talk, in their own weird ways, making themselves understood by using body language and all sorts of sounds. They mate, form families, and can live content and happy lives. He can’t wait for all that, but he dreads it at the same time. Being an outcast in his own way has spoiled possibilities for him.</p>
<p>The man half-smiles at him behind black glasses. Is he an outcast too?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the fourth day, it is Harry who approaches first.</p>
<p>He is venturing in the crowded area of the park, where flowers and humans can be found in large quantities. He doesn’t normally swim in this area, but he felt a change of scenery was needed. Also, he doesn’t mind humans gaping at him as long as they don’t try anything funny. He is musing this over when he sees the human – not the giant, the other one.</p>
<p>The man is not reading this time, but talking animatedly with someone, though Harry sees no other human nearby. The man is nudging stones with his covered foot, looking down. He is not smiling, nor is he wearing glasses, so his frown is quite visible. His nose is red and runny, his body shaking as he talks. Is the man cold? Harry himself is never too cold, but at night he likes to snuggle his bill under his fluffy feathers so that he is warm and snug as he sleeps.</p>
<p>Humans have neither fur nor feathers, but Harry has seen them borrow other animals’ feathers. Harry thinks it’s stupid, if they are born without them maybe they are not supposed to have them? And won’t the animal feel cold with their feathers removed? Harry has no one to ask, all animals he saw looked whole and fine to him. Humans are such a weird and fascinating species. And there are so many of them, Harry sees one wherever he turns. He thinks there are even more humans than pigeons, and pigeons are literally <em> everywhere. </em></p>
<p>The man has stopped talking and is now still playing with the stone. He hasn’t noticed Harry advancing yet, he can be very sneaky when he wants to.</p>
<p>There’s a cold breeze coming east. It shuffles his feathers and laps at the water around him. Harry dips his bill into the water to collect some to drink and thinks the air is too wet and it might start raining soon.</p>
<p>The man is now caressing the trunk of a tree, as he did the spine of his book a few days ago. He is still shaking with the cold, and he too is noticing the sky getting cloudy. He is leaving but Harry hasn’t made himself known yet, and can’t believe the human would be scared of a bit of drizzling. Then the man checks his bag and swears loudly, takes out his phone and swears again, this time looking around. It’s then that he finally sees Harry in the water, submerging his whole body and splashing water around.</p>
<p>Harry hears a scratchy sound and he curls his neck on both sides to better see what is happening. But there’s nothing. Just the man, shoulders shaking and hands covering his face. Harry thinks something must be very wrong with him, that his cold is getting worse, and wishes for a second time he could understand him. Understand humans.</p>
<p>Having had humans taking care of him when he was still an orphaned cygnet, he knows he doesn’t have to be afraid of them, though he keeps his guard up at all times. It sounds very silly, especially coming from a youngster like he is, but he sometimes feels he is missing out. It’s quite rare for swans his age to be on their own without a flock, and that’s probably why he is so confused. He is two years old already, and soon he’ll have to look for a mate with whom to start a family. That’s what his instinct hisses at him on a daily basis, when he paddles back and forth along the length of the lake, or when he finds a quiet space near the bank to catch some sleep.</p>
<p>The man seems to be fine now, cheeks as rosy as his nose was. He clears his throat, looking at Harry, but the swan finds the wind is so strong it pushes him toward the middle of the lake, and then down. It’s not until lake weeds are brushing against his feathers and feet that he notices. He is in an unkept area of the park, one he’s never been in. </p>
<p>The blurry image of the man has completely disappeared from his peripheral vision, and Harry paddles tentatively in this new area, constantly stretching his neck left and right to see if there are any dangers around.</p>
<p>He swims away from the lake weed to better explore the area. The water looks the same, but it gets colder and colder the more he approaches the nearest shore, though not uncomfortable for his warm body. The water is also clearer, so much that he can see the fish swimming rapidly underwater. Lake weeds are literally everywhere. The more he swims toward the bank, the more they grow in number. But as he moves closer and looks at them, nudging them with his bill, there is movement from above. It’s actually leaves, dipping into the pond, drooping branches from a tree.</p>
<p>The weeping willow is planted right in the middle of the land but it stretches in length, with its rounded branches, on top of the water. Harry, shadowed and protected under the majestic tree, for the second time in his life feels perfectly content and safe. The first time was when he was still a cygnet, and humans were there for him, keeping him warm and safe.</p>
<p>As a bird who doesn’t migrate too far from home, Harry thinks, in a burst of clarity, that home is here, in this place. He’s always been attracted to this park, and thought it was mostly because he grew nearby, but he now thinks it’s <em> exactly </em> here, in this place. It’s this area of the park, he’s sure of it. He is more and more convinced his parents had him here, built a little nest on the bank of this undisturbed place, pulling off reed mace that abundantly grows in water, twigs or fallen branches from the willow tree, and waited, staying on the eggs with webbed feet.</p>
<p>This wave of nostalgia is sudden and disconcerting. He’s making all kinds of conjectures about his parents’ nesting place, when in reality he knows nothing about it, or about them. He doesn’t remember. He knows he came out of two swan parents, probably had siblings, was taught to swim underwater to stave off predators, knew how it felt to ride on his mum’s back, looking very proud of himself. But these are merely suppositions. Again, he doesn’t remember much of his early month.</p>
<p>He paddles some more, still out of sorts. This place seems so safe, but it’s at the same time engulfed with a film of longing. It’s like a bigger cob is sitting on his breast in an attempt to choke him. Harry would fight him off, hiss and struggle, but he is unmatured, doesn’t know how to hiss properly. He would die, and knows his moving around would deplete his energies making it worse. He wouldn’t fight it.</p>
<p>This is how he feels here. He’s not fighting it, just letting it drown him. </p>
<p>Harry nudges water-lilies, contemplating again. He dips his bill in the water, drinking, then paddles toward the bank.</p>
<p>Will he ever have what his parents had, what all swans have? His whole body touches the shore and he stretches his wings to hop on land to sleep. He tucks his neck under a wing, thinking it through. He has to, he will. He’ll find a mate, his mind slurs, as his eyes finally close and he drops off to sleep.</p>
<p>A nightingale sings a sorrowful tune. The willow’s branches gently rustle, lulled by the wind. In the quiet, undisturbed place, everything stills for a moment. Then the nightingale sings some more, the wind lulls the leaves.</p>
<p>A naked young man is lying on the shore. His back is curved and legs are bent against his abdomen. The head is bowed, and arms wrap stiffly around the legs as he trembles from the cold. He frowns as he sleeps. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Episodes </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
<em>Pale were the sweet lips I saw,<br/>
pale were I kiss'd, and fair the form <br/>
I floated with, about that<br/>
melancholy storm<br/>
</em> On a dream. </p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>Harry wakes up with a gasp. There’s a hollow pain inside his chest, where his lungs are. It was the biting cold that woke him, the sun not high enough in the sky, and its rays allowing him a too gentle, if not weak, relief. There is not enough air in his lungs, and it’s hard to breathe. There’s a clattering noise and he realises with dread that it comes from within.<em> It’s coming from me.</em> The clatter becomes more intense the longer he shivers, so much that he bites his tongue, jaw opening and closing rapidly. <em> I have teeth, </em> he chokes.<em> Why do I have teeth? </em></p>
<p>He is still gasping for air, the act of breathing so mechanical yet unfamiliar. He was wondering earlier about the nostalgia that the secretive area of the park inflamed in him, and comparing it to the feeling of having a cob crashing him with its body. It is now happening, so much that he is choking with it.</p>
<p>His thoughts swim rapidly, one after the other. His head hurts and he fears something happened to his neck, that he’s lacking oxygen. But at the same time he never had thoughts manifest in his mind so sharply, so tangible he can almost touch them, or -</p>
<p>Opening his eyes, he squints at the sky. That’s when it hits him that something is very wrong. It’s not the running, sharp thoughts, not the gasps and the difficulty breathing, nor is it the teeth, for how absurd the notion is, but it’s the vision. The perfect, bright, central vision as Harry looks up at the sky. The <em> light blue </em> sky, his mind suggests, much to his utter shock.</p>
<p>It’s then, as his breathing finally eases and his mind allows his body to adjust and let the lungs simplify their work, that Harry looks down and assesses his body. As he does so, he immediately panics, so much that he turns his neck to blink at his surroundings to relieve in the familiar gesture, but finds he has difficulty stretching it as much as he used to.</p>
<p>His vision, whenever he turns, is assaulted by pink. It stretches and stretches, laid out on the grass like a blanket. Pink, wrinkled, human skin that moves as Harry tries to scurry away. He chokes, a very unfamiliar sound that stills his movements. <em> I’m human, </em> he thinks with horror. <em> I’m a human. </em>A naked, new-born baby, thrown into a foreign world of uncertainty. He screams.</p>
<p>Body rigid, vocal cords clashing against each other, a tremulous tongue and the reverberation in his ears. Underneath it all the grass seems to shift, and birds promptly flutter their wings to take flight. The resulting dizziness, from the pumping of too much oxygen in his head, is what makes him stop. The raspy scratching of nails against his throat finally quietens and gets swallowed by a trembling moan when Harry finally registers the gravity of the situation he is in.</p>
<p><em> What happened? </em> he keeps asking himself, trying to make sense and find a culprit for last night’s blurry events. As he tries to examine his memories, he has the impression they are stuck in a deep, obscure place inside himself. That they’re dispersed and devoid of the concepts and words that now seem to have embellished his mind.</p>
<p>
  <em> There’s water, warm, and delicious lake weed. So chewy. Sad, why is he sad? Oh, the promise of a nest. Thirsty, he drinks. And then he is sleepy, still a bit sad. </em>
</p>
<p>Drink! Yes, the water must have been very poisonous, though he cannot recall what it tasted like. Could he taste the poison? Would he recognise its taste? Would all poison taste the same? His mind keeps hurting from all the little notions he is questioning now. Do humans question everything they do? Is this why they have such scrunched up faces?</p>
<p>Harry scrunches up his face as he thinks about it.</p>
<p>Still laying on the grass, goosebumps on his arms and legs from the cold of the early morning, his head throbs a little, cheeks a little rosy. The fingers on his hands twitch of their own accord and Harry puffs some more air from his mouth, not knowing how to fix this, nor how to genuinely move too many limbs.</p>
<p>He is saved from thinking it over by the light crunching of boots against the grass. Harry’s neck twitches and his eyes bulge out of their sockets. <em> Another human! </em> his mind hastily warns. But Harry is caged in a porcelain crate, a grotto of voices blowing the tide. He wishes he had wings to flap and a neck to stretch, to quickly waggle on webbed feet.</p>
<p>Harry misses light, hollow bones. This neck is too short, these bones too heavy. A mind slippery more than any body of water he has ever explored. He thinks, and he already hates the sharpness of it, that he’ll be stuck here and die a horrible, lonely death. As the footsteps approach and a thud is gently mollified by grass, Harry hears ringing in his ears. He drops, like a human body drops, and eyes finally shut. A blurry, giant man frowns down at him and then there’s black. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he wakes again, there’s a warm blanket covering his naked body, the sides carefully tucked so that no draughts can get in. As alien as the situation is, he immediately recalls the earlier events, and gasps a terribly familiar inhale of air. He coughs and he is afraid but almost relieved, thinking he is finally dying. But a chair creaks nearby, and in quick steps the giant man is removing the duvet from his upper body and lifting him with two warm, calloused hands, under his armpits. The man then takes a sharp breath and pats him forcefully between the shoulder blades. Harry stops coughing but recoils immediately as the burning and tender skin makes itself known.</p>
<p>He blinks watery eyes at the giant man, noticing his surroundings for the first time. He is lying on a bed, a soft cloth caressing his sensitive body. There’s a window ahead of him, green leaves covering his view. The single room hut is covered in natural light and, while small, it’s packed up with thrown-around objects. Harry hits his back on the cold wall and gasps some more, this time in relief for the throbbing on his back. He blinks tears, vision quite blurry and throat constricting. He thinks he’ll start coughing again, but he doesn’t. Why did that man hurt him? Did Harry invade his territory?</p>
<p>Tears fall on his cheeks and he feels both the pattern they trace and the manifestation of his pain. Harry is so confused but curious at the same time, and not knowing human shame, he doesn’t question it nor hides their fall. The giant, on the other hand, looks so hurt and miserable that Harry thinks he might cry too.</p>
<p>“Ere yeh hurt? Did I hurt ye?” he asks in a rush with unveiled concern.</p>
<p>Harry swallows, his throat like grating paper.</p>
<p>The man follows the gesture with his eyes and immediately jumps at the action, relieved of having something to do with his hands. Harry jerks instinctually at the quick and ungainly movements, but the man doesn’t notice. He gives his back to Harry and starts whistling as he opens a water bottle and pours the liquid into a seemingly clean glass. The water sloshes slightly as he walks the few steps and offers it to Harry.</p>
<p>Harry, his tears already drying on his cheeks, blinks at the offered water. The man frowns, confused.</p>
<p>“Yeh not thirsty?”</p>
<p>He just stares without saying a word.</p>
<p>The man looks at the poster on the wall over Harry’s head, quite put out and embarrassed by the young man’s bold stare. His hand twitches as he holds the glass. He feels quite stupid now: collecting the fainted lad, bringing him into his hut, covering his trembling, naked body with a blanket and lying him in his bed. And then fetching him some water without asking the young man first what it is that he wants. And now, with the glass still in his hands, he looks like a complete fool.</p>
<p>The giant man’s shoulders slump. “I’ll, I’ll put this… ” He indicates the glass and before he has time to take a step, the young man moans, catching his attention. “Yes or no?” he grunts, sloshing the water glass with a hint of irritation.</p>
<p>“Yes,” comes the raspy, tentative response. Harry gasps at his own pronounced word, elated.</p>
<p>The man frowns, but offers his glass again. The boy is still seated on the bed, his back against the wall, and is looking at the glass with a scrunched up expression on his face. His fingers twitch on his lap, the duvet still covering the bottom part of his body.</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t know what to do. He is confused because he is thirsty and his throat is scratchy from all the screaming and the crying, but he has no idea how to move this newfound body to take the offered water. Maybe he could try moving his torso forward like he used to his neck, and see if that will move him closer to the glass. He licks his chapped lips in an unconscious gesture of filling his dry mouth with moisture.</p>
<p>The giant man fixes Harry with a bewildered stare when the boy doesn’t immediately grab for the glass. His body is cold and the voice quite raspy, according to the monosyllabic response he heard earlier. But he is still as a statue, the neck rigid and blue veins standing out. Hagrid thinks something wrong happened to him. That would explain the shock and the partial muteness. He is so used to interacting with animals that he sometimes forgets the communication norms humans use. He has no use for idle chatter and finds it awkward and time consuming.</p>
<p>But it seems to him that this boy doesn’t care much for words either. He looks lost in his wildness state.</p>
<p>Harry grunts as he moves his torso forward, the duvet exposing jutting hip bones as he shifts.</p>
<p>Hagrid clears his throat, embarrassed, and looks away as he stretches his hand more, hoping for the boy to finally take the hint. He is thinking of rereading the order of the day of the last Council’s meeting, the paper collecting dust on his table, when he slowly turns at the all too familiar lapping of water. The boy, for all the presumed wildness, is indeed drinking like an animal with no comprehension of opposable thumbs.</p>
<p>He has finally gotten the gist of it. The glass water is now close to his face and he has managed to put his mouth inside the rounded rim of the glass. His jaw is all stiff for the movements, but Harry knows it’s because he is not used to drinking this way. It will take a long time to finish the water, but as he laps at it with his tongue he feels so much better already. He thought humans were quick in everything they do, and that their drinking method was fool proofed and devoid of any discomfort. With the mouth muscles rigid around the glass, so that no part of his skin presses down on the cold rim in an annoying suction motion, Harry is already needing a break from all the lapping. He drank so little, but his whole face is now so sore.</p>
<p>He puckers his lips, moving his head side to side. The muscles feel a little less tight already and his short neck cracks as he does. He’s finding humans need constant stretching of their all too many bones or they won’t be able to move at all. He is ready to drink some more, when the man looks quizzically at him and gestures with a raised, free hand.</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t move, it’s not as if he can go somewhere anyway. He hasn’t worked out yet how to move his four extremities and he has to learn sooner or later or he’ll get stuck in this body. The giant has been very helpful, even though he tried to kill him with a forceful slap. Harry can pass it up, he’ll try to be very appreciative when his imprisonment ends. Being stuck in another body is no fun, especially with the added cold, the inexhaustible thirst and hunger from a bigger body, and the tiredness given by lead bones.</p>
<p>Hagrid is confused. He knows the boy must have gone through some really disturbing experiences. He is not normally one to judge, but he can admit to himself this is not normal behaviour. He doesn’t know if the boy did drugs designed to bring him to an animal state, or if he is a generally unstable individual. He doesn’t know, because he’s never seen the boy before.</p>
<p>For how big the park is, he easily notices the regulars by the way they sprint to their favourite locations once they enter the park, their eyes never losing the focus to stare in awe at their surroundings. The boy he found cold and naked at the old Dumbledore statue’s feet, his hands curled into fists and jaw twitching. He still doesn’t know how he came here, if he lost the orientation or if he needed a place to hide. He can’t put his fingers on it, but the boy looks familiar in a way. It sounds absolutely ridiculous to him, but he thinks he saw him somewhere, though he doesn’t remember where.</p>
<p>The boy’s scar troubles him. It’s long and thin and extends from the hair line to the brow. It’s twisted in an angry lightning shape and looks as if something caught in his skin and pulled, no regard for breaking tissues and gurgling blood. It’s troubling him because he’s seen it already, though certainly not on a<em> human. </em>The mere idea is even more foolish than contemplating on legends. It goes beyond the realm of reality, and even though Hagrid is not used to interacting with other people, he hasn’t lost his wits yet. No, this is just a funny coincidence, that’s all.</p>
<p>Hagrid has to think. He has to stop this foolish nonsense, and he can’t do that with the boy lapping water in the background like an animal. No, he muses as he takes a plastic straw from a drawer, he’ll fix this, whatever the heck <em> this </em> is.</p>
<p>Harry waits patiently as the man takes something out of a drawer, a thoughtful expression on his face. <em> Humans are so weird, </em> he thinks, <em> they always look like they’re having an inner argument. </em> Harry frowns at him, plucking his already dry lips. He wants his water, how long does he have to wait? He lets out a low whine, then instinctually tilts his head on his right, and then on his left, to check what is happening through his peripheral vision. The action gives him a headache and he thinks he might never get used to the incapacity of this body to adjust at his whims.</p>
<p>He is a swan, he tells himself, regardless of what his body looks like now, or of what humans will assume when they look at him. He knows his truth. But it’s hard to remember that when he tries to move his body as he used to, finding no wings to flap or neck to flex.</p>
<p>The giant comes back again, holding a stick. His mind quickly suggests him the word, <em> straw, </em> and Harry frowns harder, willing it to shut up for good. He doesn’t need the constant nagging and the know-it-all tone, even if it comes from within himself. He’s fine without knowing, thanks.</p>
<p>The man pointedly puts the straw in the glass and offers him the water for the millionth time. The straw swings back and forth in the sloshing water and Harry doesn’t know how this will aid his drinking at all. With the added object it will be even more difficult for him to flap his mouth inside the glass. It looks like a torture object, one designed to gouge one of his eyes if he tries to drink again.</p>
<p>“Put it in yer mouth,” the man barks, then appeases his tone at Harry’s jolt. Hagrid kneels at Harry’s feet and quirks his lips. “Yer an odd one, aren’t yeh?”</p>
<p>Harry is a swan, so the man is probably right. He opens his mouth as wide as he can and lets the straw rest on his tongue. He gags a little, but the man pulls out the straw a bit so he doesn’t choke on it.</p>
<p>“Suck it,” he says.</p>
<p>Harry plucks his lips around the straw and starts sucking, eyes bulging and a delighted smile as the water floods faster and faster inside his mouth. <em> This is so much better than the other method. </em> Water dribbles down his face when he smiles, and he sucks more and more, swallowing eagerly. <em> Finally, </em> he thinks, blinking at the giant man. The man only laughs, shaking his head.</p>
<p>Breathing finally in relief, water still drips from his chin. He rests his head against the cold wall, shoulder sagging in relief. He is about to doze off when the man clears his throat. <em> He is still here. </em> Maybe the man wants to talk now. Harry is not sure he can do that, despite the fact that he managed good enough earlier, according to the man’s grunt of approval. Maybe humans need the constant reassurance of words in their daily interactions, fear gestures and interjections are not quite enough to fill the gap.</p>
<p>Harry smiles at the man, and as he does so realises he doesn’t quite mind this stretching of lips. He thought his face muscles were sore because they were unused, except he thinks faces are just made to smile, the tightness of lips a relief to the interlocutor's eyes.</p>
<p>And the man, under some magical cause-effect mechanism, smiles too. There are lines around his cheeks and some wrinkles on his forehead. If this is what happens when you smile a lot, Harry wants them too.</p>
<p>“What’s yer name?” asks the man as he stands on wobbly feet. He sets the glass on the table and moves some sheets out of the way, before giving his attention back to Harry.</p>
<p>Harry thinks it through. He hasn’t thought about it, and he doesn’t know if this man is asking what Harry thinks he is. Maybe that’s what humans do when they meet. Maybe they do not have a territory to protect and wander the world on two feet, being strangers wherever they go. Harry frowns, he doesn’t think he likes that. But at the same time, he doesn’t have to rack his brain for an answer. His head is already pounding as is, and as his left hand twitches and moves, Harry thinks this whole thing is not so difficult, after all.</p>
<p>“Harry,” he murmurs, with a small voice. He looks at his hands and frowns some more, hoping they will move. His head hurts and he wants to use the hand to hold it like he saw that mysterious man do.</p>
<p>Hagrid puts a hand behind his ear, not sure he heard right. "'Ally?” he asks confused.</p>
<p>Harry wants to know what the man’s secret is to move his limbs so quickly. He is sure the man’s limbs are way heavier than his. </p>
<p>“No,” he corrects, plucking his lips. <em> I want to sleep. </em> “Harry,” he adds, with a trembling jaw. The effort it takes for him to pronounce all these words is too much for him to handle on his first day as a human. His tongue is so funny and moves of its own accord, sometimes sticking to his hard palate.</p>
<p><em> “'Arry?” </em>The man’s eyes darken and he looks at Harry with a wrinkle of his nose. “Is this yer real name?” he asks some more, crossing his arms.</p>
<p>The man is shaking his head, at himself or at Harry, he doesn’t know. Harry has seen cobs puffing out their feathers, ready to fight, and he thinks the contrite, curving back is the human equivalent of that. The man is sad, no, mad, about something. Maybe about Harry’s name. Harry doesn’t know why that is, is it not a good name? This man chose it for him, so why is he mad now? His head is pounding so hard, Harry’s vision is swimming with the effort of keeping his eyes open and not succumbing to the gentle darkness behind his eyelids.</p>
<p>He knows he’s too weak to fight, or move. He needs to regain his strength before he can hold his ground against humans. He doesn’t want the man to be mad at him.</p>
<p>Harry turns his head to the side, this time trying to look straight ahead. He blinks, pouting without realising he is. “Sorry, if you're mad," he croaks at the man.<em> Please, don’t be mad. </em></p>
<p>The man sighs, scratching his ears. He huffs,“’S alright, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>“Your name?” Harry asks, closing his eyes for a moment. He is still cold, but the tiredness is now overpowering.</p>
<p>“'Agrid,” says the man, bringing over another blanket. “Sleep.”</p>
<p>“Hagrid,” repeats Harry with a slur. “Like tha’,” he mumbles on the edge of sleep. <em> Hagrid.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>There’s water. A vast, cold body lapping at his skin, wind crashing against the surface to create waves. He dips, and dips, body relaxing minutely as he swims, reaching toward the centre of the lake. There’re stones digging into the soles of his feet, and weed brushing his ankles. His fingers twitch, already pruning in water. He almost trips, yet there’s no gravity. He is safe, he is whole. </em>
</p>
<p>He awakes. The blanket clings to his body, a wetness sensation between his inner thighs. He groggily opens his eyes, closing them back again at the sharp light coming from the window's glass. Birds chirp happily, the sound comforting enough that he almost gives in to gravity again. Groaning, he stretches his neck, cracking a kink. He listens some more, intently searching for the sound of running water. However, there’s none. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.</p>
<p>He curls his feet, trying to raise one leg but managing just a twitch. As he tries to move, he wrinkles his nose at the wetness on his lap and thighs. Did he pour some water on himself? No, his chin and neck are already dry, his whole body is dry but for his lap. That is<em> peculiar. </em></p>
<p>Trying to lift his upper body, he helps himself out with the wall but manages one shoulder up, the other down. The neck is now burning like crazy. Harry tries to push his head against the wall at his back, and with a grunt, his upper body is up, right shoulder and right ear pounding.</p>
<p>As he looks around, he tries to clear his vision by squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, although the build-up mucus in his tear ducts makes everything blurry. He is again in that room, his memories from that morning resurfacing with a quickness that makes his head swirl. Yes, he is in that same hut again, with that same heavy body that won’t cooperate, only this time he is utterly alone. The man,<em> Hagrid, </em>has left.</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t know what to make of it, but the squeezing sensation in his gut probably does. He is<em> alone, unsafe, unprotected. </em>He can barely stand, how can he manage on his own?</p>
<p>His eyes blink again in a now all too familiar sensation. He <em> hates </em> this, all these strong and choking emotions. How do humans cope? Harry wants to get back to how things were, to a much simpler and easier life. So much time has already passed, it doesn’t feel like yesterday at all. Does time run faster in the human world? He’s been here for less than a day and already thinks he’s wasting his time, part of him fearing he’ll be so long in this foreign body he’ll forget how to act when he’s swan again. But how can he get back to the pond if he can’t even move his limbs?</p>
<p>The naked body itches from when the blanket is sticking to his lap, and Harry tries to move the fingers of his hands to peel it off him. He grasps the edge of the blanket between the thumb and index of his left hand and pulls, grunting as his hand trembles and cramps. The blanket’s edge slips from his fingers so he tries again, opening and closing his hand to will the cramping sensation to go away. It does, so he tries again and manages to pull the blanket off him completely, letting it pool on the floor.</p>
<p>He gasps.<em> I did it! </em>He is so happy about his achievement that he tries to move his right hand as well, which is now twitching. In the meantime, his left hand is touching his left thigh. The skin there is slightly slick, wet and warm. Touching is so weird and so peculiar. Fingertips are lightly brushing the skin of his thigh, which jumps in response. And as he strokes skin, his body is touching and being touched at the same time. It feels like there are two of him now. When his hand rests on his thigh, a warm sensation travels from the thigh to the groin, where the organ between his legs twitches in response. He decides to ignore that for now and tries to move his leg, while the other hand rests on the wall, nails grazing as they push against it. He tries to turn his upper body, hoping the hips and legs will follow. The left leg does, now dangling from the bed. His right wrist cracks as he pushes, and the right hand gives in and falls to the bed.</p>
<p>He frowns as he looks at it. This is strange. He thought humans were perfect, or deemed themselves so, in every way. Two legs, two arms, two ears, two eyes, two nostrils. Two lungs, one heart. He thought if you cut them in half they would still survive, though they’d wander the world looking for the other half. But as he looks at his much weaker right hand, he thinks he wouldn’t probably get by with just that part.</p>
<p>The right hand won’t cooperate, so he decides to use the left one and see if he can get it to move his right leg as well. He is seated on the bed, one leg dangling off the bed, the other extended. His torso is slightly crooked to the left and his hips are hurting from the stretch. As he grunts some more, the hair on his nape curling with perspiration, he pulls with his left hand, now resting on his right thigh.</p>
<p><em> I did it! </em>he repeats in his head, breathing heavily through his mouth. Both legs are now hanging from the bed, and he swallows, thinking what he should be doing next, if he should bolt, -</p>
<p>Nevertheless, there should be nothing to worry about. He knows how to walk on two feet or, rather, <em> waggle. </em> He had legs, had feet, as he did the rest of his body. </p>
<p>He also remembers having wings. He knows humans don’t have wings, but he doesn’t know if they miss them like they do their tails, a phantom pain in their lower back. He doesn’t know any of it, of course, because he hasn’t been around humans long enough to ask such questions. How would he even begin? He has words in his mind to dip in, air in his lungs to blow water, and tongue and teeth to ripple sand. Still, to give it all back for his missing bones?</p>
<p>Harry takes on a determined expression on his face. He can do it, he thinks. If he can fly, then he can stand on human feet and walk. If he can cross air…</p>
<p>Both hands on his sides on the duvet, Harry stands. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Hagrid finds him some minutes later, Harry is lying face down on the floor. Hagrid immediately jumps into action and grabs him from the shoulder to help him stand. The boy grasps Hagrid’s jumper for leverage when his feet slip.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Hagrid grunts, dragging him on the bed again, “relax, yeh lost – uh, liquids… ” He frowns, still unsure about the drug thing. The boy is pale, yes, though he looks very much present by the way he squints at him when Hagrid unceremoniously sets him on the bed.</p>
<p>“I almost did it,” Harry mumbles with a small voice, still unsure about the volume of human speech.</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs, wrinkling his nose a moment later when the smell of piss wafts in the air. He coughs, then taps his nose. “Tit yeh piss yerself?” he asks, worried. He rubs at his temples. Does the boy have any control at all of his own bladder?</p>
<p>Harry frowns, then looks down at his lap. “Oh.” His mouth gapes in shock. “Yes?” He tilts his head to the left, blinking.</p>
<p>Hagrid groans. “Alright. ‘Arry?” He is still unsure the boy gave him his real name, but Hagrid will give him the benefit of the doubt for now.</p>
<p>Harry perks up at hearing his name, sitting a bit straighter.</p>
<p>“Yeh need to wash, yeh smell o’ piss,” he says bluntly. Then he looks at Harry still naked, the blanket pooling on the floor. He averts his gaze, scratching his neck. “Eer - yeh need clothes too. Can’t go around naked.”</p>
<p>Harry agrees enthusiastically at that, then frowns. “Sorry, I didn’t know how to –” He doesn’t end the sentence, not sure how to.<em> Pee? Walk? There’s so much I can’t do. </em></p>
<p>Hagrid kicks the blanket some and drags it through the floor with his feet. He opens the main door to kick it one final time and tosses it outside on the grass. Harry squeezes his eyes shut at the blinding light coming from the open door.</p>
<p>The door creaks as it closes again and Harry breathes in relief.</p>
<p>Hagrid looks contemplatively at Harry as he walks back inside. There is a door Harry hadn’t noticed, just near the much brighter window. Harry tilts his neck when Hagrid opens it with a loud squeak. The floor of that room looks different, with white tiles and light blue painted walls.</p>
<p>Harry perks up when he hears the sound of the running water.<em> Finally! </em>He can swim some and clean his body.</p>
<p>The man emerges from the room, frowning at him. “Err, do yeh need help standin’?” he asks, not sure how to approach.</p>
<p>Harry looks at him with a frown of his own. “Yeah, Hagrid,” he says with a small grin. “I can’t move these.” He points at the legs dangling off the bed with a raised chin.</p>
<p>The man frowns, confused. “Er, alright.” He walks the few steps and puts an arm under his armpits, and the other under his thighs, and lifts. “Yer skin an’ bones,” Hagrid grunts as he carries him.</p>
<p>Harry has never been carried like this, certainly not as a swan. He has to admit, though, that he’s very much enjoying every minute of it. He is safe, connected, and giddy for the ride. He’s sporting a giant grin while the man huffs, amused.</p>
<p>When they enter the room Harry blinks at the blinding light. He imagines he’s looking directly at the sun, for how bright it is. On the other hand, the light blue colour relaxes him and makes him think of water. He doesn't know what he expected to see when he heard the running water, and in his naivety, he probably thought the room would be home to a pond. </p>
<p>What he is witnessing now is not something he could have ever envisioned, not even in his wildest dreams.</p>
<p>Humans, apparently, have the ultimate control of everything, including water. It comes out of a tap, angrily hissing into the basin as it fills and fills. Harry doesn’t know where it’s coming from, so much of it and in such a controlled quantity. He muses they must have taken it from somewhere, <em> stolen it, </em>and let it submit to their never-ending whims.</p>
<p>Water is special, an integral part of every creature’s biological life. No matter how small, or big, it gives life to all. As someone whose whole existence revolves around water, Harry is quite confused by this predicament. Is it like the feathers, then? Do humans take this from someone else?</p>
<p>Hagrid helps him out into the basin and Harry’s nails clutch at the man’s clothes. He looks alarmed, eyes wide and lips trembling. Hagrid swings him a bit, before submerging the young man’s body into the water. </p>
<p>“’S alright,” he murmurs softly, “it’s not cold.”</p>
<p>Harry’s body relaxes at the gentle, hushed tone. He gasps softly as his body comes into contact with the warm water. The basin is cramped and he can barely fit with his legs extended, but as his head is gently set on the cold porcelain, for a moment he forgets where he is.</p>
<p>The water brushes against his body in a way that is completely unfamiliar to him. There’re no feathers or crinkles where the liquid flows in. It now ripples as he stirs and wriggles his fingers. If he were to close his eyes, Harry wouldn’t immediately tell he is lying in water, not if his whole body were submerged.</p>
<p>It’s not the case here, the water gently lapping at his shoulders and chest. That’s how he knows he is in water, from the parts of his body not connecting with the liquid. It is weird that he would know, or have the understanding of something, by first perceiving it for what it isn’t.</p>
<p>He almost doesn’t feel it against his skin. There is a slight impression of touch but it’s nothing like touching or being touched by skin or fabric. Water has no real shape, he cannot catch it. He knows this as he tries to open and close both his hands – grinning with childish glee – the movement both sluggish but less draining in water.</p>
<p>But as his left hand slowly emerges, palm facing up, the liquid licks at his skin, droplets dripping from his fingertips. They collect on his palm, a small trembling well slowly dissipating.</p>
<p>He’s jerked from his musing by the squelchy sound of a viscous, cold liquid being disgorged out of a wide purple bottle. It smells of flowers, <em> lavender, </em>and something else, and has a light golden colour.</p>
<p>Harry looks quizzical at the way it dissolves in yellow stripes into the water.</p>
<p>“Body wash,” says Hagrid, just as puzzled for having to explain it.</p>
<p>Of course, Harry knew what that was, as his mind none-too-gently reminded him. But he is confused nonetheless: do humans need to cover their scent that badly?  </p>
<p>Such musings are put on hold when Harry discovers bubbles, and a much more jubilant squeal rings in his ear, followed inevitably by a snort. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bedding has been changed and Harry is now contemplating human baths in a fluffy brown towel. His hair is still dripping despite Hagrid’s vigorous rubbing, and his fingers are pruned.</p>
<p>He didn’t think it would be exactly like this. He had no idea he would have so much fun from such a boring and necessary task. The bubbles were something else. So cloudy and fluffy, when you blow them they disperse in the air creating even more bubbles. He wants to go again, but Hagrid looks worse for wear.</p>
<p>The man’s trousers, from the knee down, are completely drenched. He had to remove his shoes to dry and is now wearing a pair of gigantic loafers with weird signs on it that Harry can’t understand.</p>
<p>The warmth from the bath is slowly evaporating off his skin, now smelling clean and flowery. Hagrid kneels in front of the bed, his face millimetres away from Harry’s dangling feet, and pulls at a few round buttons attached to the bed frame touching the floor.</p>
<p>He realises it’s <em> drawers, </em> filled with haphazardly thrown human clothes. Harry may be a bit slow in all human things, but even he knows the giant’s clothes would be too big for him.</p>
<p>The man is still rummaging inside, when he takes a few balled up items and throws them on the bed. The clothes almost hit Harry in the head. He looks at them, unsure how to put them on, and slightly brushes the pile with his right pinkie. They’re soft, if not a little crinkled.</p>
<p>Hagrid stands, closing the drawers with his covered foot. He ungarbles the items and lays them on the bed, flattening the creases with his hands. He looks critically at them.</p>
<p>“Mmm,” the man muses, “prob’bly a bit large for yeh. Me nephew is taller than yeh. Better than me own clothes,” he laughs, gruffly. “C’mon,” he claps his hands, rubbing them.</p>
<p>Harry is confused, but he’s never worn clothes before. There are too many holes where to fit his too many limbs, and he’s not sure he can do that. The man,<em> Hagrid, </em>has already done so much for him, and he’ll be forever grateful, but Harry cannot possibly ask him to help with this task as well.</p>
<p>The man looked flustered enough as he tried to help Harry with his bath. It took him a lot of time and way too many bubbles to find out exactly why that was. And then it hit: humans, apparently, don’t like naked people or nakedness. That could be down to the fact that they have no feathers or fur, and they feel colder as a result.</p>
<p>He won’t argue with human rules as he’s currently living as one, not if he wants to go incognito.</p>
<p>“Alright, remove the towel, and I’ll help with –” the man holds a pair of underwear between index and thumb, his face quite flushed as he stares contemplatively at Harry’s feet. Harry hums in response, eyebrows arching. “’S clean an’ all, but I can’t do<em> that. </em>‘S embarrassing, yeh know?”</p>
<p>Harry frowns some as he looks at the underwear. “I don’t?”</p>
<p>Hagrid’s brown eyes pop out, eyebrows curving downwards. “Oh, didn’t mean that.  ‘S not gross or anything. Just -” he looks at Harry’s face then, the lightning bolt scar crinkling messily at Harry’s baffled expression.</p>
<p>Hagrid takes a step then, still holding the underwear with one hand. “Yeh don’t –?” He shakes his head, grimacing. “Yeh know what those are?” He waves the item in front of Harry’s face, his voice panicky.</p>
<p>Harry’s nose twitches in response. Is he supposed to put them on his face? It doesn’t make any sense, the man doesn’t have underwear covering his face. He scowls as they still flap insistently in front of him.</p>
<p>“Please stop?” Harry frowns at his own tone. <em> Was it meant to sound like a question? </em>Probably not.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright, err –” Hagrid stops his moving hands and crosses his arms. He throws the underwear on the bed, as if the item is scalding hot. He is blushing furiously now and is back to looking at Harry’s feet.</p>
<p>To him the man simply looks constipated. That’s what his expression speaks of, at least.<em> What’s his problem? Is nakedness that weird for humans? </em>Harry is not sure, but by the way the man is acting it probably is. If only he could save him from his misery and embarrassment. Having emotions crashing him, giving them total control of his own body. I feel it too.</p>
<p>“I – err-” Hagrid looks up at the sound of his voice. Harry’s left hand twitches, and he raises his arm to scratch at his ears. He didn’t even think of moving limbs, it just happened, out of his control. Where does the tickling come from? Is it the throat, vocal cords vibrating at every emitted sound? Or the skin, now tight and dry? It gives him something to do with his hands, the scratching already familiar. “Sorry for… embarrassing you. If you tell me how… to put them on –” Hagrid peers closely at him now, and Harry scratches his ear harder. The hand cramps for a second and then moves again, with more force.</p>
<p>“Because yeh <em> don’t </em>know?” Hagrid’s lips thin.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I don’t.” This is unfamiliar territory and if Harry had his wings and his long neck, he would raise them as much as he could, despite being a youngling, and turn his neck to one side. But he doesn’t rely on peripheral vision only, not anymore. His forward vision is as clear and sharp as it will ever be. Turning his neck to the side would only put him in a more vulnerable position, his stretched skin bare for all to see.</p>
<p>Hagrid is not everyone, not a regular human. Harry trusts him like he would an elder of his flock. But at the same time, the man’s patience has run as thin as his eyes and lips, and Harry owes him an explanation.</p>
<p>The man is breathing deeply through his nose, and Harry is starting to feel cold. An ominous clatter of teeth can be heard in the room, though Harry is biting his spongy tongue so that it’s not as loud. “I didn’t… tell you… something.” His chin slightly trembles as he speaks, and he tries for the words to come out clean, even through the hiccupping speech pattern.</p>
<p>The man is now moving, his loafers dragging on the wooden floor. Arms are still crossed, where Harry can see them. He doesn’t know if humans are violent as he thinks they are, he remembers gentle human hands taking care of him. Hagrid is the kindest of souls. If he closes his eyes and breaths he’s hearing again the cadence of his voice as he spoke to him before.</p>
<p>“We’ve… met already… ”</p>
<p>Hagrid stops short in his tracks, looking at him. He exhales, dropping his hands on his sides. “What’yeh mean?”</p>
<p>Harry unconsciously looks down at his lap, then shakes his head and stares at Hagrid in the eyes. The trembling in his chin intensifies. Their eyes graze for a few seconds, and there’s fallen twigs and brown, warm soil under the soles of his feet.</p>
<p>The man’s stare is now fixed on his forehead, in between his eyes. What is with humans and staring? Harry though with their perfect forward vision and the more than functioning peripheral vision that they liked to watch and stare a lot. They do. But apparently not when someone else of their species is staring back.</p>
<p>Vision is so sharp, too profound, you can get lost in it.</p>
<p>Harry’s lips twitch minutely at humans’ contradictions. He clears his throat. “I mean, we met… in this park.” He waits with bated breath for a reaction.</p>
<p>Bemusement is written all over Hagrid’s face, but there is hurt too. It’s the closed off stare, the twitching jaw. Harry is picking up on it, and he’s not liking it one bit. This is so confusing. <em> Why is Hagrid hurt? What did I say to hurt him? </em></p>
<p>“Impossible,” is the man’s grunted response.</p>
<p>How can Harry correct that and smooth such hard features? “We did.” He blinks back tears, because he knows they upset humans. They upset Hagrid earlier, and he doesn’t want that.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand.” The man’s voice is a slow murmur, unsure. The eyes keep going back to his forehead as if they can’t help it. “’S not real,” he retorts with more strength. His knuckles turn white as his hands contract.</p>
<p>“I am… real,” Harry sobs, angrily brushing a few fears that fall. <em> This is not fun anymore. </em></p>
<p>Hagrid is at a loss of rebuttals, so he kneels again. “Explain that,” he says, swallowing. He is looking intently at Harry, his expression softening.</p>
<p>Harry blinks down at him, not sure how to start. He goes for honesty. “I -” He licks his lips, his vision all blurry now. “I’m a swan.”</p>
<p>The man’s hands tighten on his feet, the hands callous and warm. “Yer feet are cold,” Hagrid says instead, frowning. “Yeh need socks,” he adds, distractedly.</p>
<p>He hopes he doesn’t have to repeat himself, though he doesn’t want to break this fragile intimacy. “I said -”</p>
<p>“I heard,” the man grunts in his usual unfazed tone. He opens a drawer, taking a pair of socks and putting them on Harry’s feet, who wiggles his toes. The fabric is soft and scratchy. “I’d forgotten socks,” Hagrid adds to the deafening silence.  </p>
<p>Harry is left speechless, which is laughable considering he is technically a swan who till yesterday didn’t know a thing about human speech and now finds it absolutely necessary for interactions. “How?” he asks, coughing.</p>
<p>Inside is warm, but Harry’s whole body is cold, apart from his feet. Hagrid helps him remove the wet towel and put his underwear on, much to their equal embarrassment. When they look at each other Hagrid snorts and Harry laughs in response. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” the man asks, once Harry’s groin is covered.</p>
<p>“It’s itchy.”</p>
<p>Hagrid hums in response. “I know.”</p>
<p>“How do you know?” Harry asks again, as Hagrid helps him put his head and arms in the right holes. They are not talking about the underwear thing, but the swan thing. He doesn’t need to specify that.</p>
<p>Hagrid harrumphs, flattening the shirt on Harry’s body and making him stand to wear the joggers. “There’s a legend,” he begins, mysteriously.   </p>
<p>Harry grins excitedly. “So I can fix it? If it’s true?”</p>
<p>“Yeh can.”</p>
<p>“Tell me,” he demands, shifting his body inside the clothes.</p>
<p>“Later,” Hagrid grunts, taking a few steps back to look at him.</p>
<p>“Now!”</p>
<p>Hagrid shakes his head, giving his back to him and grunting about spoiled<em> children.  </em></p>
<p>“Later,” he says again, impatiently. “Yeh gotta eat.”</p>
<p>Harry’s stomach grumbles, drying tears forgotten. “Okay, later.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s scarfing down food, soft <em> sandwiches, </em> and choking a bit as they get into the trachea instead of his oesophagus. Hagrid told him to do little bites and to chew as slowly as he can without biting his tongue – he’s the one who finished his own sandwich in less than two morsels. Harry’s just so hungry he almost bites on his fingertips as he holds the sandwich and it wobbles in his hands.</p>
<p>He wouldn’t know what it tastes like. It’s salty and he’s so not used to that much salt, his mouth dries quickly and eyes water a little. Hagrid almost gave him one with tuna, but at Harry’s horrified expression he huffed and gave him another one.</p>
<p>Swans do not consume animal matter, not in large quantities. Maybe when they are cygnets, but it’s quite rare. He may have accidentally eaten some, if it was entangled in the weed Harry used to consume on a daily basis. But never with intent. Humans are omnivore, Hagrid explained. So that means he has to eat meat too? He’s not sure he can. It feels a bit weird. He told Hagrid as much and the man grunted <em> like one of those hippies </em>under his breath. He’s not sure he understands this, is it bad?</p>
<p>“I like Tom’s better, but these are alright,” the man says as he chews his last morsel.</p>
<p>Harry licks his lips, his stomach grumbling some more. “I’m hungry.” He grabs another sandwich with a small shrug, this one tomato and cheese. Hagrid takes the sandwich off his hands.</p>
<p>“This fer later.”</p>
<p>He lowers his elbow on the table, then tries to grab the sandwich again but the man is holding it out of reach. “I’m hungry,” he mumbles, pointing at his grumbling stomach.</p>
<p>Hagrid sets the paper with the wrapped sandwiches on the table, looking intently at Harry in case he tries to make some other move. “Yer not hungry, yer digestin'.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>The chair creaks as Hagrid stands to clear the table. Harry remains seated, happily drowsy, his belly now filled. He looks at the window, the light dull. “It’s about to rain,” he points out, yawning.</p>
<p>Hagrid opens the main door, a cold breeze whooshing inside the hut. “Yeah,” he says, putting his shoes back inside.</p>
<p>Harry tilts his head as he looks outside. There’s lots of green, and silver. He squeezes his eyes as everything is out of focus.</p>
<p>The door clangs shut and Harry shakes his head. Hagrid is frowning at him now. “Yeh alright?”</p>
<p>“I think I’m tired,” he says.</p>
<p>“All yeh do is sleep,” Hagrid counters gruffly. He sits back at the table and puts his shoes on, lacing them tightly. “Yeh need to walk.”</p>
<p>Harry contemplates this. Maybe the man is right, he needs to walk to stop his wobbling on criss-crossed legs. Maybe that’s how it works. If his voice is less and less raspy and unused, and his movements not as tense, it is because he’s been practising. The same way his head doesn’t weigh as much, though his neck remains stiff. Could he practice walking? If he does, then he can find that pond yet again and go back to normal. Harry muses this over.</p>
<p>Hagrid sucks on a thumb, then rubs the wet digit on his matte boots, looking up at Harry’s stare. “Wha’?”</p>
<p>Harry grins at him. “Can I have boots?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t get boots, because the man has just that one pair. But he’s given worn trainers, which should be a better option on his feet. The shoes are unceremoniously put on his lap and he brushes one blue raised line on the padding. They look huge for his feet. He inserts his right hand inside, wriggling and spreading his fingers. His nails barely graze the tip.  </p>
<p>Harry gasps at the sudden tapping of rain against the hut’s roof. The window is splattered with droplets, glass no more clear. One shoe tumbles off his lap. He bends his left shoulder to pick it up, biting his lip, but Hagrid is quicker. He grabs the shoe by the laces and sets it at the foot of the only bed. He does the same with the other on Harry’s lap.</p>
<p>“’S rainin’ cats and dogs now. Tomorrow,” he says gently when their eyes meet, patting Harry’s hand.</p>
<p>Harry is about to reply when the man checks the time over the closed hearth. “Want tea?”</p>
<p>It’s bitter and Harry makes a face as he drinks it, splashes the hot liquid all over himself, burning his tongue and chin as a result. Hagrid offers him the remaining sandwich.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hagrid is back from wherever he was, drying his hands on his trousers. There is a jangling set of keys hanging from his pants that wasn’t there before. Is he leaving?</p>
<p>“Are you leaving?” Harry asks in a panic, standing. His hands are steadily holding the edges of the small table, hands contracting. He’s biting his lips, the fingers of his feet curling as they try to anchor on the floor through the slippery socks.<em> If I fall, I’ll fall on the chair. </em></p>
<p>But he has more pressing things to worry about. Like Hagrid’s departure. “You can’t leave.”</p>
<p>The man shakes his head, shrugging one shoulder. “I have to, I can’t stay here.”</p>
<p>“There’s that,” Harry indicates the bed, then regrets his movement a second later, when he almost slips on the floor.</p>
<p>“’S not fer two,” he grunts.</p>
<p>The man takes out his jacket and in a panic Harry raises both his hands, stumbling backwards on the chair.</p>
<p>“Ye alright?”</p>
<p>“You leaving?” Harry asks instead, biting at his lips.</p>
<p>Hagrid approaches and ruffles Harry’s hair, which sticks in all directions. The man snorts at it, his face pensive. “No, I’m gonna get food fer yeh, then I’ve not forgotten the story.”</p>
<p>Harry fidgets in his chair, both for the promise of food and for the story. He licks his lips, grinning widely at Hagrid.</p>
<p>“Yer an odd one,” Hagrid says, amused.</p>
<p>“I’m a swan.”</p>
<p>“Of course yeh are. Now wait there, don’t move. I’ll be back” He points a finger at Harry, pressing his lips together. “Promise,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at him.</p>
<p>“Promise.”</p>
<p>“Don’t piss yerself.”</p>
<p>Harry squints at him, raising his shoulder like he saw Hagrid do, so much that it grazes his earlobe and cricks in his neck. He grins. “I’ll try.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>From what Harry can see through the window, the sun seems almost gone now, the sky a blurred purple and light blue. He longs for the wind ruffling his feathers, breathing in all the trees, never fearing being at short of air. But most of all, Harry misses water. The dark, light, lived-in pool of water he’s so used to. He misses paddling in, tilting his neck and chewing lake weed underwater. The feeling of being warm, even if alone.</p>
<p>He now feels so cold, even with these clothes on. Is it a human thing? Is this what he had to give up for his turning? The company of someone swapped for a lower body temperature? He’s been so overwhelmed by the events that followed his recent <em> transformation </em>that he didn’t even consider why it happened at all.</p>
<p>Hagrid moved the chair near the window so he can see as much as he wants, comfortably seated. Harry is enjoying tracing patterns with his trembling left hand, small waves on the frosty glass, breath ghosting noisily.</p>
<p>This window to the outside world is both a blessing and a condemnation. The rain splatters on the other side, and he’s given the illusion that he can touch it through the glass, or that it can touch him. But the fact remains that he is closed off –</p>
<p>“Yer sulking,” Hagrid grunts from the other chair, wrinkling his nose, his spectacles slipping when he does. He nudges them with his knuckle.</p>
<p>“I want to go out,” is Harry’s mumbled response, warm breath tickling the fingers touching the glass.</p>
<p>“I know,” the man sighs, removing his glasses and setting them on the table. He evens out the sheets of paper he had been reading and checks again the time. He approaches the chair where Harry has been sitting in and helps him stand. “Come e’re.” He puts a hand around Harry’s waist.</p>
<p>Harry wobbles a bit, but he seems to be doing just fine with Hagrid’s help. He turns his head to look at the window. “I know it’s raining –”</p>
<p>“And it’s very late,” adds Hagrid with a hint of impatience as he helps him sit on the bed. “I have to go home now, got a train to take.”</p>
<p>Harry frowns at him, looking around. “This isn’t home?” <em> I don’t want to be alone. </em></p>
<p>The man shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yes, an’ no.”</p>
<p><em> I don’t understand any of this. How many homes can humans have? </em>He asks as much.</p>
<p>“Many,” Hagrid says amused. “Now, do yeh need ter use the bathroom?” He clears his throat, scratching at the nape of his neck.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>“Good.” The man gives his back to him and fetches his satchel, setting it on the table.</p>
<p>“Wait!” Harry exclaims, hands twitching as they rest on his knees. “The story, the legend?” He licks his lips. “I have to know.”</p>
<p>Hagrid stops what he was doing and sighs again. </p>
<p>“Yeh do.” He narrows his eyes at him. “But then yeh sleep and I go, to be back tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Yes what?”</p>
<p>“Yes… ” Harry frowns. “Yes, Hagrid?”</p>
<p>Hagrid shakes his head, making a hasty gesture with his hand. “Never mind, that.” He claps his hands, chair creaking as he drags through the floor, near the bed. “So, get into bed first.”</p>
<p>Harry lies on the bed, hands by his sides as he squints at Hagrid. “Like this?”</p>
<p>The man frowns, shaking his head. “No, <em> under </em> the covers.” He pulls the cover off the bed, helping Harry lie comfortably with his legs tucked inside.</p>
<p>Hagrid flattens the cover as Harry wriggles some more. “Now.” He sits on the chair, then moves it so that he faces Harry. He frowns and at last he opts for the bed, sitting by Harry’s feet. “Is it botherin’ yeh?”</p>
<p>Harry turns to the side, facing Hagrid, legs slightly bent and brushing Hagrid’s shape. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, squinting at Hagrid with one eye. He snuggles, breathing deeply through his nose against the pillowcase.</p>
<p>“Alright.” Hagrid pats his feet none-too-gently. “Don’t fall asleep.”</p>
<p>No, is the mumbled answer, followed by a jaw-cracking yawn.</p>
<p>“So, err, this park is very old. Do yeh remember the statue?”</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Of course yeh don’t,” Hagrid mutters under his breath. “So, the man represented on the statue built this park, or more like he bought a piece of land and made it a park. His name was Albus Dumbledore. He was a… ” he clears his throat, “… a quirky individual, who was always dreamin’ about things. He once saved a robin who fell into his chimney. Its wing was broken and couldn’t fly anymore. Dumbledore took care of it, gave it food -"</p>
<p>“Like you’re doing me?” Harry interrupts, rubbing at his eyes.</p>
<p>Hagrid frowns. “Err, not quite. Yeh can still fly, err, when yeh get yer wings back.”</p>
<p>Harry is satisfied with the answer for now, so the man continues.</p>
<p>“Where were I?”</p>
<p>“He gave it food… ”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Hagrid looks pensively out of the window. "He took care of it, poor creature. He had lost someone special –” Hagrid sniffs.</p>
<p>“You alright?” Harry asks, stretching his legs.</p>
<p>Hagrid nods, shaking his head. “Yes, yeah. This story gets me every time –” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “But eventually the bird died. His friends thought he lost it completely after that.” He looks at Harry, his lips twitching. “He named the bird Fawkes.”</p>
<p>Harry raised his eyebrows. “Like the park?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he named the park after the bird,” he gently corrects.</p>
<p>“That’s nice,” Harry says, mulling it over. He grins at Hagrid then, sleep forgotten. “When will you build Harry’s Park?”</p>
<p>Hagrid chuckles. “It would be Harry Park, though. Not Harry’s, your park.” He pats himself in the chest. “My park.” He snorts at Harry’s contrite expression. “I already have this park ter worry about, don’t need another.”</p>
<p>“It’s a shame, Harry Park will be grand.” Harry closes his eyes, imagining it.</p>
<p>The man shakes him. “Hey, don’t fall asleep. I’m not done with me story.”</p>
<p>“I’m not.”</p>
<p>Hagrid hums in response. “Alright. When the bird died, he kept sayin' to everyone who made fun of him that Fawkes was a special bird, because it was no bird at all.”</p>
<p>“Wasn’t it a –?”</p>
<p>“Don’t interrupt.”</p>
<p>Harry glares without heat.</p>
<p>He is answered with an eye-roll. “It was no bird, Dumbledore said, but his sister. His young sister Ariana, who had died –” Hagrid shakes his head, “so he bought the land. He didn’t want other birds to be killed by hunters. He wanted them safe.”</p>
<p>“The secret pond?”</p>
<p>“I’m gettin’ there,” Hagrid chides. “There was a small pond in the park, but it dried over time. When the pond dried, they created an artificial lake –”</p>
<p>Harry wrinkles his nose at that, the word<em> artificial </em> a bitter taste in his mouth.</p>
<p>Hagrid pats his feet. “’S not so bad, yeh know. Dumbledore said he could still see the pond, though there was no pond anymore. They planted bushes to cover the area, so yeh can’t see the dip in the ground. I don’t care about aesthetics.” Hagrid frowns. “Anyway, Dumbledore said the water was magical, something about the soil, I dunno. It didn’t make sense at the time and it doesn’t now.”</p>
<p>Harry muses this over. He’s relieved in knowing that what happened to him is the result of a magical mishap. Knowing that there is a purpose to the secret pond and that it probably found something in him worth changing. Still, it doesn’t make sense changing him into a human, because as much as he is curious about them, he never asked to be turned.</p>
<p>“What happened to Dumbledore?”</p>
<p>Hagrid looks at him, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “He died very young. Driven to obsession.”</p>
<p>“How old was he?” Harry snuggles some more into the cover, feeling cold all of a sudden.</p>
<p>“32.”</p>
<p>“He was very young.”</p>
<p>“He was, a good man too. A philanthropist.” Hagrid nods to himself, puckering his lips. “He had a diary, though it was never found. Only the letter –”</p>
<p>“How do you know so much about him?” Harry interrupts, intrigued. If all stories are that thorough he’ll have to ask Hagrid to make this their nightly routine.</p>
<p>Hagrid blushes, scratching his beard. “Err, I bought the book. Written by a descendant. Read it loads of times.” He stands, walking toward a small cabinet with glass shutters. He bends to open it, and a book falls out, colliding with his foot. “Too much crap in here,” he mutters, rummaging through book after book before finding the biography, a hardcover with a blurred magnified picture on the front. Hagrid wipes the dust with his clothed forearm, then kicks the shutter with his foot, leaving it half open.</p>
<p>“That’s the book,” Hagrid says as he comes back, resuming his sitting position. Harry sits too, with some initial difficulty, but managing nonetheless. He tilts his head, staring in awe at the book from behind Hagrid’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“What does it say?”</p>
<p>Hagrid turns his head to frown at him. “Yeh mean the title?”</p>
<p>He is holding the book in his hands, the cover a pale beige. There is a black-and-white picture printed on the front, the margins blurring and crinkled. The man in the picture is looking at the camera in all seriousness, his chin high and back straight. One of his arms is casually resting over the patch pocket of his jacket, from where a chain hangs. The other is by his other side, slightly curled. One of his lips is tilted into a half smile, and his eyes twinkle.</p>
<p>There are signs on a cursive font mimicking handwriting. Harry frowns at it. Then he remembers Hagrid asked him a question. He traces the sign, disappointed that the words are not raised. “Yeah, this is the title? What does it say?”</p>
<p><em> “The Man behind the Myth."</em> Hagrid reads, scoffing. “A ridiculous title, but those sell a lot, apparently.”</p>
<p>How much of the park’s history is written in those pages? And what about the secret pond? Harry is confused and frustrated, because as much as he enjoyed the story behind the park’s name he still has so many questions. <em> Hagrid cannot answer those, nor can this book. </em>Not the questions about the pond, and the legend.</p>
<p>There are urgent things he has to ask. “Where is the secret pond, then?”</p>
<p>Hagrid chuckles, shaking his head. <em>"That,</em> everyone wants to know. I don’t know an’ the book doesn’t say the location, of course.” He looks contemplatively at Harry. “Yeh should know, yeh were there.” He stands, setting the book on the chair.</p>
<p>Harry exchanges a glance with Hagrid. He then grimaces. “I don’t remember where it was. The tide –”</p>
<p>The man crosses his arms. “I found yeh at Dumbledore’s statue. That’s why I asked ‘bout it. To see if yeh remembered it.”</p>
<p>I don’t remember any of it. “There was no statue near the pond,” Harry says, hands picking at some loose threads distractedly. “I would remember that. There was a <em> giant </em> tree –”</p>
<p>“Which tree?” asks Hagrid, leaning forward.</p>
<p>Harry scrunches up his face, thinking it through.<em> There were branches drooping from the tree and dipping in water. It looked like lake weed, but it was actually leaves. </em>His nails graze the duvet before relaxing. “A –” he shakes his head, “a willow?” He frowns, looking at Hagrid for confirmation.</p>
<p>The man narrows his eyes. “There’s no willows in Fawkes Park. I’d know.”</p>
<p>Harry sighs. “But that was in the secret pond, you can’t know what grows there.”</p>
<p>There’s a hint of bitterness in his tone. Part of him remembers the pond, the feel of the water, cold and clear, but some details are cloudy. He wouldn’t know how to get there, and doesn’t know where it is exactly because he stumbled on it, carried by the tide.</p>
<p>“What’re yeh thinkin’?”</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head minutely, his hands twitching on the duvet. “I still don’t know where it is.”</p>
<p>Hagrid hums, stroking his beard. “At Dumbledore’s.” He shrugs at Harry’s expression. “That’s where I found yeh.”</p>
<p>“You’ll take me there, then?” Harry smiles.</p>
<p>“Tomorrow,” says Hagrid. “It’s late now, I have to go.”</p>
<p>Harry watches the man prepare his satchel, his foot hitting the open cabinet. “Damn it!” he grunts, walking toward the main door. Then he turns, frowning at Harry. “I’ll leave this on, just in case,” he says, indicating the small lamp over the cabinet.</p>
<p>Harry exhales, watching the figure on the threshold. “You’ll be back?”</p>
<p>“Tomorrow,” the man confirms, before closing the door behind him and turning the key twice.</p>
<p>Harry is left alone in the small hut, the small lamp on the cabinet illuminating the room in stripes. He lies again in bed, sighing as the soft pillow connects with his head. He is so tired and his head hurts.</p>
<p>His hands are on his belly, following his breathing. He turns slightly to the left and the book is still there, on the nearby chair.</p>
<p>
  <em> Some things are clear now, but there are still those that need an answer. The bigger question is, how do I fix this? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is floating. There’s no water touching his body, but a pulling sensation in his gut. His pupils dance behind his eyelids and he keeps his eyes closed, despite this being a dream. He’s aware of limbs, heavier than stone, his hands stretched with the palms facing up. Harry murmurs something incoherently, but no sound escapes, his jaw set and unmoving. He can’t move, though he can feel everything happening around him.</p>
<p>He is in space or in some other remote place, the breeze carrying no specific smell. It’s pure and clean, but he wishes there was water. A sigh and he turns toward the sound, but his body won’t cooperate. He’s as stuck in this newfound body as he knew he would be.</p>
<p>There’s a presence in the room, or the space, he is in. The bed dips as the presence approaches his still body. Harry wants to grab for it, as a piece of cloth brushes against his fingers, but he can’t. His body still unmoving, Harry moans as something touches his cheek. He can’t turn to see what it is. <em> A finger? </em>His jaw jumps.</p>
<p>He blinks, and his eyes open. It’s dark but for the small lamp on the cabinet near the door. His limbs prickle as he tries to move them. The more he wriggles his fingers the more the sensation goes away, and he breathes in relief. He is not stuck, he is safe.</p>
<p>There’s an owl hooting in the distance, probably salvaging for food. Harry’s own stomach grumbles in response, but he doesn’t want to move. He closes his eyes, then raises his right hand to scratch at his cheek, the drool itchy.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes, succumbing to sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s Hagrid’s voice that wakes him. His eyes flutter, black strands covering the bright, yellow light. Harry blinks, groggily looking around. Body still lying down, he wriggles his toes and stretches his arms, a jaw-cracking yawn catching Hagrid’s attention.</p>
<p>“Yer awake, at last. Though yeh dead,” the man says as he approaches, setting a warm cup of milk on the chair now acting as a bedside table. “’S 9.30, already.” Hagrid gives his back to him, walking toward the sink, his empty cup clattering as he does. “Two fools were campin’ near the non-camping area,” he shakes his head. “I told ‘em the sign was right there. Didn’t see it, they said.” He clicks his tongue, sighing.</p>
<p>Harry has finally managed to sit and is now looking at the cup of milk with a frown, his left hand twitching. “What did you do?” he asks, clearing his throat when his voice comes out a bit scratchy.</p>
<p>“Drink the milk, there’s honey in it.” Hagrid turns, facing him. He crosses his arms. “What did I do? I ate ‘em.” He chuckles at Harry’s both shocked and sleepy expression. “Nah, I gave them directions to a camping area, told them to be careful.” He nods, shrugging. “It was just kids, yeh know? Yer age, I bet.”</p>
<p>Harry is about to sip his milk, hugging the warm cup comfortably with both hands, when he half turns at Hagrid’s sentence. The liquid sloshes in the cup and he frowns at it. “My age?”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah.” Hagrid approaches the bed again, leaning against the small table. He stares at Harry contemplatively. “Yeh can’t very well say yer two years old.”</p>
<p>“But I am,” Harry says, before sipping his milk and burning his tongue. He makes a face, moving the cup away from his face, tongue lolling.</p>
<p>“Blow on it,” Hagrid says, having witnessed the whole scene. “Not in human years,” he adds. “Yeh look nineteen, or twenty. If someone asks, yeh say twenty.” He points a finger at him. “It’s better if yeh look older.”</p>
<p>Harry shrugs at this, milk splashing on his front when he raises his shoulder. “Crap,” he mutters under his breath, the wet stain sticking to his belly uncomfortably.</p>
<p>Hagrid clears his throat and Harry looks up, confused at the glare Hagrid directs his way.</p>
<p>“Wha’?” Harry looks down at the stain. “I’m sorry for that, I’ll wash the shirt.” The rim of the cup connects noisily with his mouth, teeth clanking. He makes a face, slurping wetly at the tea, a few drops escaping from his bottom lip and dripping down his face.</p>
<p>“Yer making a mess of the sheets,” Hagrid says, amused. He is still leaning against the table and is looking enraptured at him, as if Harry is a wild animal being studied outside of his normal habitat. Which is actually true. But he is getting better at this whole human drinking. No need for Hagrid to comment on a few slip-ups.</p>
<p>“I don’t think –”</p>
<p>“Go wash up,” Hagrid interrupts, hand pointing lazily at Harry’s lap, where a small pool of milk is now collecting, wetness seeping through his clothes.</p>
<p>Harry holds the now empty cup in both hands, shaking his head at the disaster he created. <em> That’s probably why humans invented tables. </em>Hagrid takes the offered cup and sets it on the table. He offers a hand to Harry, directing him in the bathroom. “Can yeh stand on yer own?” he asks, worried, as he puts his hands on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing somewhat reassuringly.</p>
<p>But Harry’s mouth is dry in a way that he didn’t think was possible when he got the first wisps of human speech. The tongue is devoid of moisture, and his lips are chapped despite his tea drinking. He is rooted to the spot, staring back at the figure reflected in the clean glass. He hadn’t noticed the glass, not for what it was. Yesterday he passed it by after his bath, the glass foggy like the window after an entire afternoon of rain. He didn’t comment on it, Hagrid holding him and Harry dragging his feet so that the slippers would not fall off his feet.</p>
<p>But he knows, the face staring back looking lost and confused, he knows without a doubt <em> this </em> is not Hagrid. The tall man is right behind him – Harry turns to check that he is – a gentle weight on his shoulders. The man’s lips are slightly tilted upwards. When Harry blinks back at the glass, ignoring the bigger man behind him, the figure blinks too.</p>
<p>This human, this person, looks nothing like him either. <em> What do I look like? </em> is not a question he ever contemplated. He is a mute swan like his parents, and the parents of his parents. He belongs to the family of Anatidae, Hagrid told him the day before during their second meal together, as voraciously as he devoured all traces of his chunk of bread. A water bird, that’s what he is, a <em> Cygnus, </em> if you want to use a fancy word. Harry knows swan, and that is a simple enough concept for him to grasp.</p>
<p>He recognises his kind by sight and behaviour. Belonging to the same genus doesn’t mean they act like mates with each other. There are boundaries not to cross, ingrained behaviours of flared wings or dipping heads. It’s instinct protecting the immediate family: parents with their cygnets, members of the same flock protecting each other.</p>
<p>He knows what he normally looks like because he’s seen enough of other swans passing by. But the clearest of water bodies never prepared him for this. Never prepared him for seeing himself reflected, not when his body is so different and so unlike him.<em> How do I know this is me? </em></p>
<p>Hagrid gives him a little shake. “Mirrors never show yeh what yeh want to see.” </p>
<p>Harry is about to reply but he gets distracted by his mirrored self opening his mouth to speak. <em> Is it truly me? </em> </p>
<p>“’S up to yeh to decide to let it affect yeh,” Hagrid continues, his tilted chin saying without words what it is he is talking about. He then moves one of his hands and sets it on the mop that is Harry’s hair.</p>
<p>He both feels the weight and sees it happening as if he is witnessing the scene from afar. “Is this magic?” he asks, left hand raised to touch the glass. It’s cold like the glass window, no tears on the other side.  </p>
<p>A roaring laugh at his back travels through his body, the warm sensation calming him. “No, not magic. If it were, I’d see a half giant in there.”</p>
<p>Harry blushes. <em> That’s how I called you in my head, before I knew your name. </em>He doesn’t say this, but Hagrid squeezes his shoulder more tightly, ruffles his hair affectionately. It’s alright, he seems to be saying.</p>
<p>“I’ll help yeh wash up,” Hagrid says, stopping his musing.</p>
<p><em> It’s alright. </em> If Harry considers how his parents would look if they were humans, if he’d look remotely like them, nobody has to know. He squints at green eyes and thinks of clear, pure water, of willow leaves.</p>
<p>
  <em> Were they always like this? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry took another bath, this time without supervision.<em> Yer twenty, </em> Hagrid had said, amused,<em> yer old enough ter swim on yer own.</em></p>
<p>Harry laughed, his heart lighter than it ever was after his <em> transformation. </em>He even took care of his <em> business </em> as Hagrid called it, to Harry’s raised eyebrows. Apparently, the man now refuses to use words that could be considered slurs, for fear of Harry picking up on them. He tried to look as sullen as he felt at that, especially after the bit about Harry’s <em> spongy brain </em>. He argued that he is old enough to speak those <em> nasty words, </em>because he is of age. But the man won’t hear any of it. <em>Not under me roof,</em> he almost barked.</p>
<p>He is dressed in new clothes, jeans, twice his size. Hagrid gave him a belt so that they wouldn’t slip off him, and a t-shirt, though he wrapped a jumper around his waist, <em> ‘cause it’ll get cold later. </em></p>
<p>The idea of finally going out topped with the possibility of seeing the secret pond again is giving Harry such a giddy feeling he only ate half his cereals, both for the literal knot in his stomach and for excitement.</p>
<p>When Hagrid opens the main door and a gentle breeze comes in, Harry takes a staggering breath, willing his fingertips to stop prickling. The man stops his leaving with a hand gesture and leaves, closing the door behind him.</p>
<p>Harry is left alone in the hut, his mind swirling.<em> Is it not happening then? Is he gone? </em>He tries to stop himself from worrying but this newfound emotion is taking a hold of his whole body and mind, dissecting every little gesture Hagrid did and giving it a new, fictional interpretation.</p>
<p>The jumper is wrapped tightly around his waist, a nice, comforting weight that does nothing to erase the worry that he has been left alone and lied to by this man he trusted and considered part of his human flock. His hands are twitching lightly on his jeans, but he is seated already, he doesn’t need leverage. He is contemplating leaving this place and trying to find the pond on its own when the door opens up again, Hagrid coming in, out of breath, as he holds a gigantic stick with one hand.</p>
<p>“Found it,” he says gruffly, walking inside. He taps the piece of wood on the floor, his hand gripping it tightly. “Sturdy,” he adds, winking at Harry.</p>
<p>Harry exhales, shakily. <em> He came back? </em> He shakes his head, snorting to himself. Hagrid is looking at him funny, the long stick now being leaned against the wall.</p>
<p>He’s always been fine on his own, but now that he’s relying on this gentle human, he feels like he cannot roam the world alone. <em> Am I getting too used to human company? </em>There’s no answer for this, Harry doesn’t truly know. These human emotions are literally doing a number on him.</p>
<p>“Ready, ‘Arry?” Hagrid comes in his aid to help him stand and once they reach the threshold, he offers him the stick. “This is yer new friend,” Hagrid says as he wraps Harry’s left hand around the wood. “Hold on tightly.”</p>
<p>One thing he’ll probably never get used to in this human form is touch. Touching, caressing, grazing, fingertips lightly brushing skin or other surfaces. He’ll never get used to the prickling sensation at his nape, the slow exhale. One of his hands is wrapped around the stick, sweat collecting on his palm, but the other is free to explore the dark wood and all its veinings.</p>
<p>Hagrid has a firm grip on his elbow, holding him upright. Harry is completely enraptured by the stick of wood almost reaching his chest. Upon noticing that he gets a different feel if he uses his knuckle, he starts touching the wood with that instead. </p>
<p>“It’s so soft,” he breathes, in awe.</p>
<p>“Cherry wood, thirty-six inches. I worked it meself, removed all the twigs as yeh can see. Though I left the bark, it was fine on its own. I just smoothed it out a bit.” Hagrid is still talking about it and Harry smiles distractedly as he traces lines with his fingers on the first few inches below the top.</p>
<p>Harry frowns at the small dips of the wood under his left hand’s fingers. He strokes them and tries for a stronger grip.</p>
<p>“Those are the grooves fer yer fingers. Nice, innit?”</p>
<p>Harry looks at him then, the strange urge to<em> touch </em> and <em> come closer, </em> so he does. “Thank you Hagrid,” he says, his left shoulder brushing against Hagrid’s chest.</p>
<p>The man smiles at him behind his thick beard, stroking his hair affectionately. “Yer welcome, lad,” Hagrid murmurs. “Now off with yeh, we have a pond to find.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They walk side by side, Hagrid’s grip supporting him every once in a while when he is about to lose his balance. But Harry never falls. Having a support helps immensely. They are in the south area of the park, the man said, near the iron gates enclosing the park. </p>
<p>The path is pebbled but the small stones under his feet are smooth and dry and do not dig into his shoes. Harry takes a deep breath with his mouth, and heaves when he almost inhales a fly.</p>
<p>“Yeh alright?”</p>
<p>Harry hums, lips tightly close, refusing to open his mouth to speak.</p>
<p>Hagrid laughs, patting him gently. “’S alright, lad. Breathe through the nose.”</p>
<p>And so he does, stopping his walking as he takes in his surroundings. The forest is covered with silver birch trees, whose branches curve, bell-shaped. But it’s the bright green colour of the leaves that make his breath stutter. He has a vague memory of the willow, the wet grass and the pond’s clear water. <em> This green, my eyes are this green. </em></p>
<p>Hagrid nudges him gently and Harry continues his walk, smiling to himself. <em> There is so much to see. </em> The pebbled path ends abruptly and gets substituted by firm, crunchy grass.</p>
<p>“This way,” Hagrid says, showing where the main asphalted path begins. There are still birch trees scattered around, but it’s less and less. Harry drags his feet some, the walking stick tapping insistently, if not hesitantly.</p>
<p>They are not there yet, Hagrid tells him with concern. The breath comes out in shaky gulps and his forehead is wet with perspiration. Harry stops and coughs, exhausted already.</p>
<p>“Yer up to it? We can get back an’ try tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Harry grits his teeth, shaking his head, face pale and sweaty. “No, we have to… get… pond –” </p>
<p>The stick thuds when it collides with the ground, Harry’s knees shaking as they give in. Hagrid promptly grabs him by the elbow before he can fall forward. Harry coughs some more, eyes watering, then heaves. Before Hagrid can put a hand on his forehead to steady him, Harry is retching on the floor, stomach spasming convulsively.</p>
<p><em> I’m dying. </em>Harry coughs, liquid dripping from his nose and mouth, a sour taste on his breath. He looks down, eyes damp, and Hagrid holds him against his chest.</p>
<p>“’S done now, it’s alright,” the man whispers against his ear, beard grazing the skin on his neck. He helps him sit on a nearby bench, then collects the stick, tapping it loudly on the pavement to shake excess dirt. Hagrid makes a face and leans it against the bench.</p>
<p>Harry is reclining on unfamiliar timber, shallow gasps coming out of his lips. <em> What happened? </em> He was fine less than two minutes ago, though fine is not the word he would use. He was a bit queasy, yes, but thought nothing of it, and had no idea this was a possibility. <em> Duly noted, </em>he thinks, blinking at Hagrid.</p>
<p>“’Ey,” the man touches his damp forehead and cheeks, smoothing out his hair. Harry unconsciously leans into the touch, eyes closing and breathing deeply through the nose. Hagrid pats his cheek and he squints at the man. “’Arry, ‘Arry. I’m going to the hut, be back in half an hour. Yeh stay here, alright?”</p>
<p>Harry blinks at him, eyes unfocused.</p>
<p>Hagrid smacks his cheeks and Harry gasps, frowning at him. </p>
<p>“Half an hour,” the man says urgently, staring at him, “alright?”</p>
<p>Harry nods, then stops when it starts to spin. He frowns. “Alright,” he breathes, voice scratchy.</p>
<p>Hagrid purses his lips, nodding tightly. “Yeh stay here,” he warns, walking away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking at the puddle on the asphalt, Harry turns his head with a grimace. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. The morning air tickles his hair and he closes his eyes, feeling so much better already. He is relieved they hadn’t yet reached the main picnic area, otherwise he’d have humans gaping at him, or worse. </p>
<p>Harry has no idea what exactly happened. Overexcitement, Hagrid will undoubtedly say in his gruff voice. How has he come to know this man so well, but fails to understand the signal his own body is sending him? </p>
<p>He was peaky earlier, his ankles hurt from all the walking and his wrist was stiff as it gripped the stick. Still he hadn’t said a thing to Hagrid, he just kept walking, gritting his teeth.<em> Is my body so expendable? </em></p>
<p><em> Whichever fabric I’m wearing, whether it’s feathers or human skin, I have to work with it, not against. </em> This is probably the most difficult thing to swallow, knowing his limits. Swans have their own limits, he’s long learnt them through his time living as one. <em> But what about humans? What are theirs? </em></p>
<p>Harry is pulled from his musings by approaching footsteps. He sighs in relief, opening his eyes, glad that Hagrid is finally back. The breath catches in his throat when he notices the silhouette is actually coming from the opposite direction, and it’s tall and lean and the steps fluid in their urgency. It looks nothing like Hagrid.</p>
<p>From the other side of the pathway, Harry can’t very well see his features that well, or think much of them. Though when the man sneers at the vomit on the ground, and covers his face and nose with a napkin.</p>
<p>Harry frowns at him, squinting. <em> I’ve seen him somewhere. </em> And as this thought gently laps at his mind, Harry is neither worried nor confused. This man looks familiar, yes, but Harry doesn’t feel threatened by him in the slightest.</p>
<p>Accessing memories from <em> before </em> is confusing, the images are blurry and most times they are difficult to decipher for his human mind. But he <em> knows, </em>though he can’t quite grasp the exact memory, that he saw this man when he was still a swan. He knows that this man visited him and gave him food.</p>
<p><em> You were gentle to me. </em>Harry stands on shaky knees, his hand gliding on the cold metal armrest. He smiles at the man, who stops short in his tracks to glower at him.</p>
<p><em> I know you, </em> he wants to say. <em> I’m Harry, </em>he would add. But he feels he has no words to give, the imposing presence of the man stealing them all.</p>
<p>“I have no money for you,” says the man with a low tone.</p>
<p>Harry blinks at him, confused. <em> I don’t understand? </em></p>
<p>“It’s the middle of the day,” he adds, tone clipped muffled by the napkin held tightly in front of his face. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”</p>
<p>He bypasses the vomit on the path, shaking his head and not granting Harry another look.</p>
<p>“I –” he wavers, but the man has already gone. Harry looks at the vomit then, angry tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. There is a small rock near his feet, crumbled asphalt. He kicks it, with very little strength. It skims on the pavement, near the border of the pooling liquid. Harry looks away, his face aflame.<em> Is this what shame is? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Hagrid comes back, he’s out of breath with a bag of sawdust and a shopper bag. </p>
<p>Harry feels restless. While his body sits contentedly on the bench, shoes crunching pebbles, his mind is spinning. His mind cannot stop replaying the encounter with that man, and he’s doing his darndest to understand what is it that he failed in the human interaction.</p>
<p>Hagrid looks at him and the frown lines smooth on his face. <em> He was worried about me. </em> Harry watches as he lays the bag on the bench and drops the sack on the pavement, opening it to pour the content on the vomit. The man coughs as the raised dust gets into his eyes and mouth.</p>
<p>Harry stands, the wish to help stronger than any lingering thoughts. He retrieves the walking stick and approaches the man, who has just finished his work. Hagrid exchanges a glance with him and then closes the sack tightly with twine, lips grimacing.</p>
<p>“Yer up already,” the man grunts, studying his work. Harry is not sure if the tone is more reproachful or pleased.  </p>
<p>Harry clears his throat. “Yes, I feel so much better. Resting helps,” he adds when Hagrid clears his throat meaningfully, now peering at him.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t be too sure abou’ that,” the man says as he rummages through his shopper bag to take out a filled water bottle. </p>
<p>He opens it for Harry, then offers it to him. Harry takes it gingerly, palms slipping on the wet surface. He studies the tiny hole at the top for a few minutes, tilting his head appropriately, before Hagrid takes pity on him and shows him how to drink it.</p>
<p>“Spit it,” the man says when Harry starts to swallow. “Wash yer mouth of the vomit.”</p>
<p>So he does. The man makes him spit thrice before allowing him to finally swallow the water. It dribbles from his chin, but the sun is warm enough for Harry not to worry about a wet t-shirt.</p>
<p>After having freshened up, Hagrid leaves again to put his stuff back in the hut. He asks Harry if he wants to follow, but weirdly enough he <em> doesn’t. </em></p>
<p>He sees the man go, nails scratching the denim at his knees. The blades of grass twirl, seduced by the wind. They spin, whirl and shake, before they cease their dance and remember their place. Rooted in the soil, they sigh, knowing that they won’t be free, not this way. </p>
<p>Harry blinks, hands shaking. He clears his throat, blushing as he averts his eyes, not looking at the vomit now covered in sawdust, already drying.</p>
<p>His stomach flips at the approaching footsteps. <em> Am I going to throw up again? </em> But it’s just Hagrid, coming back. <em> Already? </em> Harry squints at him, not sure how much time passed. Probably enough for him not to notice anything.</p>
<p>“Yeh ready?” Hagrid approaches, all sweaty. He discreetly wipes a hand on his pants before offering it to him. “Come, we have a pond to find.” He winks at him, laughing at Harry’s worried expression. “’S going to be fine, trust me.”</p>
<p>Harry is not so sure about it, but he trusts the man. Hagrid’s hand is a warm and comforting weight against his own. He grabs the walking stick and starts to make tentative steps, breathing slow but steadily to make sure that little incident doesn’t happen a second time.</p>
<p>Hagrid squeezes his hand before letting go and Harry’s palm remains invitingly open, fingers stretched. He is a blade of grass trying to catch the whistling wind.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Harry says, turning to look at the sawdust scattered on the pavement. <em> Do we leave that here? </em></p>
<p>Hagrid follows his gaze and his expression softens. “Don’t worry, lad. No one ever comes here, I’ll clean it up later.” He gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder before nudging him to continue their walk.</p>
<p>No one ever comes here, the man said. That’s not true, though, is it? <em> Should I tell him? There was a man earlier, with an expression on his face I’ll never forget. He said that I should be ashamed of myself.  </em></p>
<p>Harry bites his lips hard, concentrating on the path ahead. He hiccups in his steps, but the grip on the stick is tight and he doesn’t stumble. I’m not crying. Hagrid whistles, looking straight ahead, legs moving lazily. His expression is calm and pose relaxed. They don’t talk for the whole walk.</p>
<p>Soon the expanse of grass makes space for new trees, barks sturdy and of a healthy brown, towering above them. <em> English oaks. </em> Harry’s chest expands as he breathes in, nose in the air. Birds chirp fretfully, the sun is high in the sky. He stops to scratch at his neck, nape sweaty.</p>
<p>He continues his walk. There will be plenty of time later for staring and touching. He now has a pond to reach, to find solace in its existence.<em> I have to make sure it’s still there, where I left it. </em>Harry swallows, his steps stuttering. On their left a new trail unfolds, a path made of earth and crunchy leaves.</p>
<p>Harry frowns, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. His foot hovers on the left path, the stick testing the ground, gentle underneath. But Hagrid nudges his elbow, shaking his head no. “Statue is over there,” the man says with a low tone, indicating the asphalted path stretching further. Harry sniffs the air, sighing. </p>
<p>They continue down the main path, and Harry grips the stick with his right hand, left wrist sore. He stops short in his tracks, face akin to horror when he hears voices, screaming and giggling not far from where they are. <em> More humans. </em>Hagrid puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, tutting. “’S alright, we won’t meet any of them.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, gripping the handle tighter. They walk some more, the ground steeped. Harry stares down at his feet, taking attentive and measured steps, the stick tapping comfortably and brushing against his ankle. Hagrid stops him with a brush on his elbow. When Harry turns, the man has a foreboding expression on his face, one that has Harry almost whispering inquisitively in response.</p>
<p>He doesn’t get to voice his questions, though, nor does he remember, a second later, what he was about to say to the man, because when he looks up he sees the statue: the back of a man, standing proudly and seemingly observing newcomers as they enter the park. Harry gasps, walking closer and faster toward the small area, with an urgency that’s new to him and his long-limbed body.</p>
<p>There’s no faux stride, or slippery leaves. There’s gravity, yes, but there’s no weight or heavy bones holding him back. As far as he can tell, he’s walking in water. </p>
<p>What would it be like, taking space in water with a body like this one? Would he drown? If the primary concern is staying afloat and not caring about speed, would it work? Almost trotting in water, dodging obstacles as he does? He can’t possibly know, because there’s air surrounding him and water has no place to be in the middle of a park.</p>
<p>He blinks only when his hand touches concrete and pointy shoes with laces that look nothing like his own. He gasps at the blunted consistency against his skin. It’s not cold, like he imagined it would be. Objects can be cold, unless they are warmed up or meant to be warmer. </p>
<p>Skin is never too cold, and different humans never have the same body temperature. Hagrid, for instance, is always warm, the hands calloused. But when Harry touches his own thigh, the hands are always warmer than the rest of his body, or vice versa.</p>
<p>The statue is lukewarm, bathed by the sun high in the sky. As Harry watches attentively, a pigeon grazes the statue’s head with its wings, claws curled. After hearing Hagrid’s passionate tale about this man, this<em> Dumbledore, </em>Harry cannot help but think that, however smooth, his face is sad. </p>
<p>The eyes twinkle merrily, and he sports the smile of someone who is beaming but trying everything not to show it. Despite it all, behind half-moon spectacles and an unkept beard, inside a curled fist brushing his leg, there is a sense of nostalgia around him.</p>
<p><em> Did the statue take a part of his soul? </em>He knows nothing about art, or of what humans consider artsy. They like animals well enough, landscapes too, if the reactions upon visiting the park are anything to come by. And they snap restlessly, picture after picture. Is that what art is? If that is the case, Harry is not interested in discovering further. </p>
<p>Just by looking at the statue he is trying so hard not to shake it, to free the man caged inside. Having foreign fabric on his body is not something Harry would wish on others, humans or otherwise. He’s not talking about clothes here either.</p>
<p><em> If the statue falls and crumbles on the ground, will it free the man inside? </em>He is contemplating this when Hagrid approaches, breath laboured.</p>
<p>“Yer fast when yeh want to be, huh?” Hagrid shakes his head, a little smile playing on his lips. He dabs his forehead with the back of his hand, then gestures at the statue, clearing his throat. “Yeh found Dumbledore, then.”</p>
<p>Harry tilts his head. “He wasn’t hard to find.” He then pets the statue’s feet, frowning. “Where’s the pond?”</p>
<p>Hagrid scratches his beard, looking around. “Well, it was supposed to be here, somewhere… ” He shrugs.</p>
<p>Thick bushes enclose the small area. It is so secluded and unnoticeable. If it weren’t for the imposing and tall statue peeking out from around the bushes, people wouldn’t know about its existence. But there’s just that, <em> bushes. </em></p>
<p>“There’s nothing here,” Harry says, his stomach twisting. “Where is the pond?” he asks, urgently. <em> This is not possible. The pond must be here, somewhere. </em>"Where did you find me?” he asks again, turning toward Hagrid.</p>
<p>The man frowns, a sad expression on his face. “Er –” He clears his throat again, looking anywhere but at him.</p>
<p>Harry takes a few steps forward, the walking stick hitting the ground with a dull thud. He is in front of Hagrid now, the statue towering over them. He lowers his head, tone pleading. “Hagrid, tell me!” Harry’s voice cracks and his eyes are clear, liquid moss.</p>
<p>Hagrid raises his arm, and Harry thinks he is about to pat him or squeeze his shoulder in his usual reassuring way. But the hand hovers on Harry’s shoulder and all fingers but the index close into a fist. Hagrid points behind him, voice grave. “There, I found yeh there.”</p>
<p>Harry exhales shakily. He turns and blinks, there’s only grass. He moves forward, stumbling on his feet, but Hagrid catches him promptly. Harry half-smiles, not turning. He stretches his hands, kneeling on the grass and tumbling down. He catches a strand of grass between his fingers, pulling. There is a small crack, the soil slowly giving in. He stops before he can tear it off, caressing the strands in apology.</p>
<p><em> I didn’t expect this. </em> Harry sniffs, blinking at the bright green. He lies on the wet grass, turning on his side. It tickles his cheeks and makes his nose twitch. I want to get back. Hagrid is coming closer, checking on him. Harry hugs his knees to his chest, looking at the bright blue sky through his peripheral vision. Dumbledore is smiling down at him with a benevolent smile. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, one lone tear streaming down his nose. <em>Let me get back. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They don’t mention anything on the way back, nor during their meal. It’s when Hagrid frowns at Harry – looking critically at his hair and then pulling out a strand of grass that had caught on his mop when he had been lying down – that the <em> missing </em>pond bobs back on the surface.</p>
<p>“What do I do now?” Harry is sitting on the bed, head between his hands. The sniffles have subsided and he is now openly brooding. Hagrid is beside him, a hand patting his upper back.</p>
<p>“Yeh said yeh couldn’t find it, but yeh just didn’t see it.”</p>
<p>Harry stares at him from behind his splayed fingers. “I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>Hagrid huffs, ruffling his hair. “The pond was there, but yeh didn’t see it,” he repeats slowly.</p>
<p>“How do I know it’s there if I can’t see it?” Harry raises his head, now frowning at him.<em> This makes no sense. </em>“Dumbledore could see the pond, you said that!” He points a finger at Hagrid, poking at his chest.</p>
<p>The man laughs, his hands curling around Harry’s gently. “He did, yes. But I also said the pond is magical and grants yeh a wish.”</p>
<p>“I drank the water, and now I’m human. So?”</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs. “So, when yer wish is fulfilled yeh’ll be back bein’ a swan.”</p>
<p>“Are you quite sure about that?” Harry purses his lips, not believing that magic can be that <em> logical. </em></p>
<p>Hagrid opens his mouth to reply when Harry interrupts brusquely, making a vague hand gesture. “Yes, yes, the book.”</p>
<p>“The book,” confirms Hagrid with a grin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hagrid told him that a good night’s sleep would do him good, that all his ruminating would quieten at last once his eyes were closed. Now it’s dark behind his eyelids, but human doubts seem to find strength in darkness. They creep in from under floorboards, the draught pushed in by the noisy wind, the creaking of the spring mattress.</p>
<p>Harry is restless as he tosses and turns, hands finding the fleeting comfort of soft sheets. <em> What will happen if I’m stuck in this body? Will I finally get used to it? </em> He frowns, pupils dancing behind his eyelids. <em> I have to get back, there’s a lake waiting for me. </em> </p>
<p>It hurts realising that no one will miss his presence, or cry his absence. Only places, landscapes who’ve seen plenty of life passing by. Harry thinks of Dumbledore, of piercing eyes forever unblinking. He mumbles in his sleep.<em> I don’t want to be a statue. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Harry wakes up the next day, after gulping down some lukewarm milk, he springs out of bed, tumbling and cramping his leg. Hagrid frowns at him from his sitting position, before shaking his head and leaving him to it. Harry grunts a good morning and stands up, freshening up and getting ready for the day ahead.</p>
<p>The man observes this with a sigh. He stands, drowning the remains of his cup in the sink. Then he shrugs, opening the door. But before he can close it behind him, a walking stick is blocking the door.</p>
<p>“’Arry?” the man asks, confused.</p>
<p>Harry grins at him, face appearing between the door and the jamb. He squeezes outside, walking stick dragging behind him. “I think I’ll take a walk,” he says, with a confidence that surprises even him.</p>
<p>Hagrid raises his eyebrows, looking thoughtful. “That’s a good idea, Harry. It will do yeh some good.”</p>
<p>“I think, yeah. I’ve thought about it and –” he swallows, blinking at the glaring sun. “I shouldn’t stress over the pond, everything will go back to normal, right?” His shoulder sags when Hagrid nods enthusiastically. He sighs in relief. “Good.”</p>
<p>“D’yeh know how to get back?” Hagrid asks, indicating the stretching path with his chin.</p>
<p>Harry nods. “Yeah, I remember.”</p>
<p>Hagrid hums, then rummages in his jacket’s pockets for something. When he finds it he shows it to Harry. It’s a set of keys. Before he can grab them, Hagrid closes his fist around it. “Don’t lose ‘em,” he says, seriously, “or I’ll have to break the door again.” He makes a face. “It’s a pain to fit it back in the frame.”</p>
<p>Harry gapes at him. “Fit it back i –?”</p>
<p>“I’ll show yeh how to lock the door. Pay attention.” He demonstrates by inserting a sturdy key into the closed door. The key doesn’t turn. Harry frowns at it. “Wrong key,” Hagrid says with a head shake. “They look the same ter me,” he chuckles, turning the key twice counterclockwise.</p>
<p>Harry nods, thinking it looks quite easy. He keeps turning restlessly for a chance to explore the park, hoping the man will hurry up and let him roam.</p>
<p>Hagrid shakes the door knob a few times and, when satisfied, he gives Harry the keys. “Put them in yer pocket.”</p>
<p>Harry does, under the watchful eye of the keeper, and pats his full pocket comfortingly.</p>
<p>“Yer shirt is inside out,” Hagrid comments when they are at the first path fork. Harry looks down at his shirt, frowning.</p>
<p>“As long as the holes are alright,” he says, flattening the front.</p>
<p>Hagrid snorts, patting his shoulder and heading toward the other direction. </p>
<p>Harry frowns at the path. It’s not asphalted, the ground wet and brown. He stumbled upon it yesterday, wondering where it would take him, but Hagrid made him follow the other route to reach the centre of the park. As he walks, trees enclose him the deeper he goes. </p>
<p>Harry stops in his tracks, gripping the stick tighter when he <em> hears </em> and <em> smells </em> water.  He almost falls forward in his haste to walk faster, the stick digging in the soil with sound squelches. Words fail him again, but this time the sense of helplessness overpowers everything else. He is in a small clearing, where the soil is wet and brown, covered in twigs. </p>
<p>There’s one lone tree on the lake shore, with matured catkins and reddish woody cones hanging from its thin branches. Harry draws in a sharp breath, mesmerised. The walking stick squelches on the ground alongside his feet, carrying his certain, noisy steps. His hand trembles as he touches one of the zigzagged leaves, the branch bending with a small creak. It is of a light green with an inward notch at the apex, with raised veins that he keeps rubbing with his thumb.</p>
<p>The water of the lake is just at a step’s distance. If he stretches his leg forward, his feet would hover on the water, and he could –</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” says a low voice from behind him.</p>
<p>Harry jolts, his hand slipping from where it held down the leaf. The branch slaps painfully into his face when it readjusts its position. Harry turns, gingerly cupping his burning cheek with his right hand, the left gripping the stick.</p>
<p>There is a man, black dressed, sitting on a stool. His legs are crossed and he has a book in his hands and a messenger bag at his feet. He is looking at him with one arched eyebrow, thin lips pursing.</p>
<p>Harry bites the inside of his cheek, testing the tender skin. “I know you,” he says, clearing his throat. He swallows, left hand spasming as it holds the walking stick for dear life. <em> I know you </em> is the understatement of the century. <em> You said I should be ashamed of myself. Why would you say that to me? </em>would have been a more appropriate retort.</p>
<p>The man smiles thinly. “I don’t think I have had the honour yet.”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t catch the sarcasm. He walks closer, because he knows eye-contact is important. The man frowns as he does, his legs slightly turning to the right side, book closing shut.</p>
<p>“I’m Harry,” he says, finally repeating the words that he so longed to say. When he does, he internally breaths in relief. <em> This is me, that’s my name, despite the fabric of my skin. </em>This is the first time he gets to say those words to someone that isn’t Hagrid, who already knew them.</p>
<p>The man’s reaction is narrowing his eyes. <em> What colour are they? </em></p>
<p>Harry comes closer, smiling tentatively at him. He doesn’t know if there are more rituals to follow, but he must have done something wrong, because the man curves his back, hands splayed on top of each other on the book’s cover. Harry frowns at it, taking a step back.</p>
<p>“I don’t know who you are, nor do I care. Leave me alone.” The man glares when Harry doesn’t move.</p>
<p>Harry frowns at him. “I’m Harry.” <em> Did I say that alright? </em>“I know the keeper –”</p>
<p>“Are you threatening me?” the man hisses, standing up.</p>
<p>“Wha-?” His jaw jumps when the man comes closer. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to –” He shakes his head, his right cheek boiling hot.</p>
<p>The man sneers, looking him up and down. “I remember now. You are the drunkard from yesterday. What is that you want? I told you I have no money to give.” He straightens up, the book slipping from his hand.</p>
<p>Harry picks it up before the man can. His knees crack as he does, but he manages to stand with only a small wobble, the stick aiding his balance. He brushes the dirt off the cover with his hands, frowning when he sees a smear of red on his right palm. There’s two mated swans on the cover, their heads intertwined. Harry blushes, handing the book back to its owner.</p>
<p>Their fingers brush when the man takes the book back from his hands. Harry looks at the man’s eyes, black like the lake at night, where the moon reflects on the clear surface. He gives him a small smile.</p>
<p>The man frowns at him, taking the book quickly as if scalded. His hands contract on the book before he brushes non-existent dirt off it. He turns and takes his seat again, ignoring him.</p>
<p><em> Why is it so difficult to talk to humans? </em> Harry looks at the clearing again, the water gently lapping at the shore. His eyes prickle at the bitter longing. <em> I’ll get back. I know I will. </em></p>
<p>He sighs, turning one more time to look around, before looking at the man. The man in question does not acknowledge him, though his knuckles whiten as he reads. <em> Should I say something? </em>Harry thinks it better not to say anything, the man seems to hate him for some reason.</p>
<p>He walks away, the walking stick comforting and familiar. He has taken two steps outside the clearing when he hears the whispered words. “Your cheek is bleeding.” Harry doesn’t turn. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It didn’t go well.” </p>
<p>Harry is perched on the bed, feet on the side rail. He stares at Hagrid, then at his hands, when the man comes in, wearing an unhappy expression on his face. The man sighs, closing the door behind him. </p>
<p>The sun has dipped below the horizon, and the sky is the colour of blushing cheeks. A dirty cooking pot has been thrown in the sink – splatters of orange around all sides – alongside a plastic straw.</p>
<p>Hagrid frowns at it, then lets the water run and fill the pot to full capacity, adding a squirt of dish soap inside. </p>
<p>“What didn’t go well?” he asks, hanging his coat and removing his boots. </p>
<p>“The meeting humans thing. It didn’t go well.” Harry turns his head to the side to stare back at Hagrid and the lamp illuminates his right cheek, where a small, barely healed cut stands out on his pale face. </p>
<p>Hagrid strides over to him, cupping his chin gently with one hand. He inspects the minor cut with a furrowed brow, nostrils flaring. “Did someone hurt yeh?” </p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, unconsciously shaking Hagrid’s gentle grip off his chin. “No, it was a tree. I was touching a leaf and the branch slapped me.”</p>
<p>Hagrid snorts at that, shoulder sagging. </p>
<p>“It needs disinfectin’.” He enters the bathroom and comes back with a small white bottle and some cotton pads. He uncorks the bottle, the pads put on Harry’s lap. Then he pours a few drops of the transparent liquid onto one cotton pad, before dabbing Harry’s cheek. “It will burn a bit,” he murmurs to Harry’s frown. </p>
<p>His cheek twitches at the contact with the cotton, but Hagrid holds his chin still. </p>
<p>“Don’t move,” he breathes on his face. Harry glares without heat. “Why it didn’t go well?” the man asks as he walks away, storing the products back in the bathroom cabinet. </p>
<p>“Well,” Harry stretches his neck to peer inside the bathroom, and raises his voice, “he didn’t like me, said I was a drunk –” He shakes his head. </p>
<p>Hagrid exits the bathroom, mumbling to himself. “What did yeh say ter him?” </p>
<p>Harry clears his throat, staring at his feet. “I said I <em> knew </em> him.” Through his peripheral vision he sees Hagrid approaching, so he raises his head. “Is it bad?”</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs, sitting on the bed. “How could yeh know him?”</p>
<p>He blushes at that. “I remember some people, you know? Passers-by?”</p>
<p>Hagrid is looking intently at him, and Harry tries not to twitch under the stare. <em> I thought staring was alright. Checking possible dangers, rummaging food, encountering other swans… but for humans it's more than that. It’s </em> assessing <em> body language, checking for… something.  </em></p>
<p>“Oh, that’s nice,” Hagrid says, thoughtful. He shakes his head. “But yeh can’t barge in and say ‘hey yeh, I know who yeh are’,” he adds with a knowing look. Harry gives a sheepish smile. “People don’t like that, it’s a bit creepy.”</p>
<p>“How do I fix that?”</p>
<p>“Err,” Hagrid scratches his beard, “if yeh meet this person again, yeh say yer sorry fer today, and try again.” He shrugs at Harry’s frown.</p>
<p>He purses his lips at that. </p>
<p>“An’ yeh can still make new friends, yeh know? I could introduce yeh to some people.”</p>
<p>Harry muses this over. <em> If you meet this person again,</em> Hagrid said. <em> As if I have another choice. I know he’s going to be there tomorrow. </em> He bites his lip, suddenly nervous. <em> I could make it work. If I can make friends as a human, then I can find a mate as a swan, right? </em> Harry smiles, cut prickling as he does. </p>
<p>Hagrid stands, rubbing his hands together. “Supper?”</p>
<p>Harry’s stomach grumbles loudly. “Supper.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The very next day Harry enters the clearing, looking around with a subtlety that he hasn’t managed to refine yet. The walking stick is a comforting weight against his palm, now more a gentle habit than a necessity. </p>
<p>Harry swallows when he sees the man, seated at the same spot, shadowed by the branches of a tree extending inside the clearing. His back is bent, elbows resting on his knees. There’s a gentle breeze, but the man’s shirt is rolled up at the forearms. He sighs, closing the book shut when Harry approaches.</p>
<p>The man doesn’t stand, simply turns, straightening his back. “You again?”</p>
<p>Harry shrugs, shoulder rising excessively. “Yes, is it alright?” He smiles at the man, free hand twitching on his side.</p>
<p>The man looks at the walking stick, then at his face. He seems to assess him, so Harry tries to not to move an inch, though failing royally.</p>
<p>His gaze feels different from Hagrid’s. This one lingers, heavy and warm on his skin like a thorough caress. But it carries contempt, looking for flaws. The lines on the man's face are deep, the skin automatically crinkles in places. </p>
<p>Unlike Hagrid, cheeks are not reddish with heat and sunlight. He is the type of man who would shoo away the rays like he would a buzzing fly.</p>
<p>“There are no benches for you here,” the man says distractedly, resuming his reading.</p>
<p>Harry exhales in relief. The staring was making him uncomfortable. “It’s okay,” he says, looking around, “I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>The man harrumphs, peering closely at the open page.</p>
<p>Harry sighs, sparing the water a longing look. Having decided, he walks determinedly toward the alder, shivering. The air is fresher near the water, a pleasant breeze ruffling his hair. </p>
<p>He leans the stick on the trunk, but it falls on the pavement with a thud. Harry shakes his head, brushing both his palms on the bark, rough and lukewarm. One raised, cracked chunk has him peeling it to show what lies underneath. A smooth, light brown surface, and a green bug crawling about.</p>
<p>Harry manages to sit under the tree, the ground cold but firm. The chunk of bark plops in the water, fish whizzing away. He grins, removing his shoes and socks, scooting forward to be closer to the water. When he finally dips his feet, he gasps at the cold water and wriggles his toes experimentally.</p>
<p>“I expect being <em> friends </em>with the park’s keeper comes with its advantages,” says the man with a scathing tone.</p>
<p>Harry sighs, turning his head to the left to look at the man, now standing with his hands behind his back. “The water is a bit cold, but it’s real nice.”</p>
<p>“You’ll scare away the swans,” the man says instead.</p>
<p>Harry laughs open-hearted, water lapping gently at his ankles. <em> This swan is not scared. </em></p>
<p>The man presses his lips together, glaring. “There is no reason to be that disrespectful to a complete stranger. Swans are –” He looks forlornly at the lake, searching what, Harry doesn’t know. “Elegant and majestic creatures,” the man continues, giving him the side-eye. “They do not deserve such mockery.” He brushes his pants with both hands, then goes back to his seat.</p>
<p>Harry frowns at the man’s retreating back. <em> Is he mad again? What did I do now? </em>He takes a deep breath, staring at his wiggling feet in the clear water, trying to stay calm. It’s the water that he addresses, though he hopes the man will hear him just fine. </p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” His left palm touches the ground, nails drawing zigzagged lines. “I love swans,” he adds with a small smile, though the man cannot see that. A bee hovers on the surface of the lake, near his immersed feet. Harry frowns at it, hoping it won’t bite him. “You could say I’m a swan too,” he adds, biting his lips.  </p>
<p>“What did you just say?” whispers the man, voice threateningly close.</p>
<p>He jumps, turning around. The man is right behind him, arms crossed and a raised brow. Harry clears his throat, not letting the man unnerve him and trying to remember what it was that Hagrid said. <em> Yes, try again. </em></p>
<p>Dusting dirt on his jeans, Harry half turns, toes curling in water. </p>
<p>“I said,” he clears his throat, cheek twitching, “that I’m a swan.” </p>
<p>He blushes, both imagining the man’s and Hagrid’s reaction. <em> I don’t think this is what Hagrid meant, but I’m tired of humans not understanding. If he does know, then he won’t question me being a bit weird. </em>The logic of these sequential thoughts seems to tame Harry’s nerves for a bit, at least till the man finally digests what Harry said.</p>
<p>The man sighs. He takes a deep breath through his nose, licking his lips. When he opens his eyes again, they pierce right through Harry’s skull, who squirms in response. </p>
<p>“A swan, you say?” he drawls, his voice a hushed whisper.</p>
<p>Harry nods. “Yes. I know it sounds weird.” He scratches at his ear, pulsing under the man’s gaze. His feet beat in the water.</p>
<p>The man nods gravely. He openly stares at Harry’s face, looking for who knows what, before he looks back at the lake, lips twisted. “What type of swan?”</p>
<p>Alternating his confused gaze between the standing man and the lapping water, Harry gapes. <em> Does the man truly believe me? </em> He shakes his head, trying not to make too much of it. <em> I’ve met only two humans so far, and they both seem to believe who I am. Maybe they are not as sceptical a species as I thought they were. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Why would Hagrid say not to tell anyone? </em>
</p>
<p>“I’m a mute swan,” Harry says, removing his feet from the water. He puts the socks on, the fabric soaking through. Before he can grab his stick and stand, the man sighs again and lends him a hand. Harry takes it gratefully, the man’s hand soft and firm against his own. “Thank you,” he adds, smiling at him.</p>
<p>Remembering what he thought about Hagrid’s stature, Harry cannot help being somewhat disappointed in this man’s height. He is just a few inches taller than Harry is, and from up close he is not as intimidating.</p>
<p>The man seems to sense this change of heart, however, for he narrows his eyes at him. Harry brushes his jeans, looking around for his shoes, while the stranger takes a few steps back, clearing his throat meaningfully.</p>
<p>Harry raises his eyebrows at him, looking expectantly.</p>
<p>“I had no idea mute swans were quite the talkative kind,” he says, glancing at Harry sideways. Harry opens his mouth to reply when the man continues. “Or that their eyes were green,” he whispers, gaze burning.</p>
<p><em> How do I explain everything that happened when I’m not even sure myself? </em> Harry tilts his lips, half shrugging. <em> It doesn’t make much sense to me either. </em></p>
<p>The man purses his lips, then walks back toward his seat to pick his bag from the ground. He slips the book in his bag, passing the shoulder strap over his head and brushing the old leather with long fingers. The stool takes a few tries to fold and the man makes an impatient sound before closing it with a grunt. He straightens his back, half turning.</p>
<p>Harry is still in his soggy socks, the ground cold under his feet. The stick is lying on the ground, ready to be retrieved, and his shoes are shadowed under the alder.</p>
<p>The man frowns imperceptibly at him, and Harry raises one hand, effectively stopping him. </p>
<p>“Wait,” he says, coughing. He’s starting to feel a bit chilly, and belatedly realises this body is not equipped to dry up on its own, no waterproof plumage to protect it against the cold. “I –” He forgot to ask the most important question and the basic one of human interaction. <em> Maybe that’s why he has been looking at me all weird? </em> “What’s your name?” </p>
<p>Harry holds his breath, not noticing he is doing so ‘till the man opens his mouth to speak, and Harry releases his with a gush of air.</p>
<p>“Severus,” says the man, lips twitching. He nods in Harry’s direction before leaving, messenger bag lightly tapping on his thigh and the stool tightly gripped by the pipes.</p>
<p>“Severus,” Harry says to the empty clearing, lips curling around the word. “Goodbye.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry sniffles loudly, adenoids burning with the effort. He scrunches up his face, mouth dry and lips cracked. The blanket is pooling down around his shoulders, but he holds it up with both hands, the wool grazing his earlobes. He sniffles some more, followed by a cough that scratches at his throat painfully. </p>
<p>Pulling at the blanket, Harry raises his left hand, the wool now lightly scraping his neck. He wriggles his toes but the movements are a bit more strenuous with double socks – Hagrid insisted. The man is heating some water on the burner, frowning at Harry with small shakes of his head. Harry squints back at him, eyes heavy.</p>
<p>“What?” he croaks.</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs, turning the heat off and pouring the hissing liquid in two mugs. It’s late afternoon, the hut is quiet but for Harry’s sniffles and Hagrid’s footsteps as he sets the two mugs on the table. He takes a seat on the chair, blowing softly on the liquid, his hands holding the warm mug comfortingly. He takes a small sip before answering, his frown intensifying. “Yeh went fer a <em> swim." </em></p>
<p>Harry licks his lips, looking longingly at the mug, steam coming out of it. He clears his aching throat. “Just the feet,” he says with a small shrug, keeping the blanket in place. His toes are curling on the duvet, legs against his chest.</p>
<p>“Just the feet,” repeats Hagrid, disbelieving. Harry frowns at his tone, not sure he likes that. “In the early mornin’, with it bein’ 10 degrees out.”</p>
<p>Harry holds the blanket tightly around his trembling frame.</p>
<p>The man sips some more tea before continuing, thumb brushing off the excess from his lips and moustache. “Why did yeh do that?”</p>
<p>Stretching his legs, Harry puts Hagrid’s slippers on and shuffles his feet, dragging the other chair toward the table. Hagrid looks at him, not saying a word. When Harry eventually sits, his forehead sweaty, Hagrid’s stare turns stern, his eyebrows creasing. </p>
<p>“So?” He nudges Harry’s feet with his when the boy merely stares into the coloured liquid. “’Arry?” he adds, impatient.</p>
<p>Harry holds the mug in both hands, sighing at the warmth. The blanket pooling down his shoulders. “I miss the water, I couldn’t resist.”</p>
<p>“And I understand this –” starts Hagrid with a small exhale.</p>
<p><em>Do you? </em>Harry frowns at him, biting his lips. He could have very well said that aloud, for the man’s expression darkens for a few seconds. “Yes, I may not be quick-witted or know exactly what yeh went through, but I feel yer confusion, yer hurt –” He brushes the back of Harry’s hand with his, squeezing it once before retreating it.  </p>
<p>“Then make it go!” Harry’s voice cracks, hands shaking as they hold the mug. A few splashing droplets scald his hand and he hisses, holding the burning limb against his chest.</p>
<p>Hagrid raises both hands off the table, murmuring softly, “‘Arry, ‘Arry, yeh caught a cold and now feel like shi –” he shakes his head, grunting to himself, “so it’s norm – alright, it’s alright feelin’ like this, I promise.”</p>
<p>Harry wets his palm with the saliva, the burning slowly subsiding. He looks Hagrid straight in the eyes. </p>
<p>“Is it though?” he mumbles back, his left hand circling the rim of the mug in a mesmerising motion.</p>
<p>The mug hovering near his lips, the man contemplates this. He finishes his tea before encouraging Harry to drink his too, before it gets cold. </p>
<p>“Look,” he continues once Harry starts sipping with a small frown, “ginger tea,” says Hagrid distractedly before getting back to the topic at hand. “I understand, and I’m really tryin’ ter help here. But yer little foolery is dangerous. Yeh can’t swim, yer no bird now,” he says urgently. “Yeh may get real sick from the cold, yer not immune ter it. Yeh understand this?”</p>
<p>Harry sighs, setting his mug on the table. He presses his lips together. <em>"Dangerous? </em> This world doesn’t look dangerous, only complicated.”</p>
<p>Hagrid huffs. “It’s the dangers that make it complicated. Remember this.” He scowls when Harry doesn’t acknowledge him. “’Arry.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Harry says, hands crossing on the table. <em> If he says so… </em></p>
<p>“I know this world, trust me,” Hagrid says with a small chuckle. “I’m old enough.”</p>
<p>Harry is not sure he completely gets it.<em> I’ve seen the world too, </em> he wants to say but refrains himself. Hagrid is always there for him, took him in without prompting, and is teaching him things. <em> And he is not asking anything in return, </em>his mind retorts.</p>
<p>“It still doesn’t look dangerous,” he says, blinking at Hagrid, his nose twitching. He sneezes a moment later. The man stands to throw a paper towel at him. Harry looks at his hands, eyes watery. “Idtense,” he adds, sniffing again, nose all stuffy. He blows his nose, already feeling better.</p>
<p>“Finish yer tea,” Hagrid says, looking around in the small hut. He purses his lips, mumbling to himself as he opens the bottom kitchen cabinets and rummages inside.</p>
<p>Harry slurps noisily at his tea, musing. It’s spicy and bitter with a touch of sweetness, but a balm to his sore throat. The steam wafts on his nose, warm and ticklish. He sets the mug back on the table when his nose twitches again, but no more sneeze is forthcoming. He sighs, hugging the blanket and looking at Hagrid with heavy eyes. The man shakes his head and closes the counters before looking inside the liquor cabinet.</p>
<p>“What’re you looking for?” Harry asks, yawning. He blinks at Hagrid, taking another sip of his tea.</p>
<p>“Ibuprofen,” the man grunts from behind an open door.</p>
<p><em> Is that medicine? </em>Maybe that’s not such a bad idea, if it makes the pain go away. Shutting off his mind and having his body rest.</p>
<p>“Humans don’t like me,” he says to the now empty mug in a fit of lucidity. That’s a certainty, no turning it around.</p>
<p>Hagrid stands, closing the door shutter. He puts a packet of dry biscuits under his nose, round with small holes. “That’s not ibuprofen.” Harry frowns as he grabs one, the plastic crinkling slightly. He brushes his thumb on the front, feeling the texture.</p>
<p>“That later,” Hagrid answers with a small huff. “Yeh know,” he adds as he sits again, “if yeh called ‘em <em> people </em> instead of <em> humans, </em> maybe they’ll like yeh more.” He shrugs at Harry’s shocked expression. “Eat,” the man simply says, nudging the packet closer.</p>
<p>Harry takes a big bite, moaning softly. “Tasty,” he says, mouth full and crumbs falling on his lap. Hagrid laughs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wakes up a few times during the night, his body restless and shivering despite the extra blanket and the socked feet. He bends his legs as he turns to the side, facing the window. The night is quiet but for some lone crickets, chirping their heart away. Harry opens his eyes, blearily looking at his surroundings. There’re shadows everywhere, familiar and still.</p>
<p><em> Who would have thought I’d be safe behind four walls? </em> Even now that he’s sweating from the medicine Hagrid forced him to swallow – limbs trembling and forehead burning – he is alright, he truly is. Has the confusion gone? Quite the opposite. But feelings are now drowsy, padded up and as his eyes flutter one more time and the shadows shift in the dark room, their shape is distorted, they do not belong. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There, there,” Hagrid says when Harry sighs at the cold and damp cloth resting on his forehead. He opens his eyes, eyelashes grazing the fabric. “Yeh have a bit of a fever, that’s normal. I’ll give yeh more medicine now.”</p>
<p>“Time is it?” Harry croaks, clearing his throat. He turns a bit on his side to stare out of the window, but Hagrid’s hand on his forehead keeps the cloth in place.</p>
<p>“Don’t move,” the man says, putting another cloth on his neck.</p>
<p>Harry gasps, almost shaking the cloth off his forehead completely. “What is –?” he licks his lips, cracked and dry.</p>
<p>“It’s 10.45 am,” Hagrid says, checking his watch. His lips twitch. “Do yeh have things to do? Post office, stuff like that?”</p>
<p>“My –, clearin’,” Harry mumbles, eyes unfocused.</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs, removing his hand and walking away. He comes back holding two biscuits on a paper towel and a glass of water in the other hand. Harry groans, knowing what is coming next.</p>
<p>“Now, don’t be difficult,” Hagrid grumbles, helping him lean against the headboard. “Have some biscuits, then drink the water and <em> swallow </em>the pill, not chew,” he looks pointedly at him, and Harry purses his lips, “an’ then back to sleep.”</p>
<p>Harry chews the biscuit slowly, not very hungry but forcing it down anyway. It tastes like dust, like soil catching in his food, and he shakes his head when Hagrid offers the second one. The man sets it on a napking on the chair acting as bedside table. “For later.”</p>
<p>When he is offered the glass of water, he downs it like a man caught in the desert, half forgetting about the pill till Hagrid holds it in front of his face, where it looks as big as the tennis ball on the liquor cabinet, collecting dust.</p>
<p>He moans, dreading it, but he’s at Hagrid’s mercy, to do with him as he pleases. Harry takes the offered pill and lays it on his tongue. He scrunches up his face as he drinks more of the water, forcing the pill down with the liquid. His throat scratches with the effort, and he can almost feel the path of the medicine down his oesophagus. He must’ve made some weird noise for Hagrid rolls his eyes at him and mumbles “melodramatic” under his breath.</p>
<p>Lying in bed again, Harry almost gives in to sleep when he remembers what he had to ask Hagrid. The man is tucking up his blankets, having run the cloth again under cold water before setting it on his forehead. “Hagrid,” he mumbles on the verge of sleep.</p>
<p>The man squints down at him, and Harry raises his hand to pet his beard with clumsy movements. <em> It’s so soft. I never noticed that.  </em></p>
<p>“Yer out of it already,” the man says with a chuckle, squeezing his hand. “Rest,” he adds.</p>
<p>“No, wait!” he calls, panicky when he can’t see the man anymore, fearing it’s already too late. “The man, the clearing, we talked. Tell –” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Hagrid walks back and shushes him.</p>
<p>“Alright, lad, I’ll talk to yer <em> new friend, </em> ” the man says, wrinkling his nose. <em> That’s exactly how I looked like when I swallowed that thing. </em></p>
<p>“Please,” Harry moans unconvinced, holding onto the man’s sleeve with little strength.</p>
<p>A sigh. “Sleep tight, I’ll do –”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t catch the entire sentence, already in the realm of dreams. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry shuffles his feet as he walks, his bones heavy and aching but the mind sharper than ever. <em> How much did I sleep? </em> Hagrid is nowhere to be seen, and the sky from outside the window doesn’t look much different from when he saw it last. <em> How long has it been? </em></p>
<p>There’s a small device on the table he’s never seen before. It’s made of metal and has buttons on the side of a black screen. The surface is smooth, but the screen has stains in the shape of his fingertips. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to touch that?</p>
<p>Hagrid barges in carrying plastic bags. His cheeks are red and he is breathing noisily through his mouth.</p>
<p>“Yer awake at last. How’re yeh feelin’?” Hagrid asks as he sets the bags on the table, moving the small device out of the way. There’s dirt under his nails and one knuckle is cracked.</p>
<p>Peering inside the bags, Harry looks sideways at him. “Are you hurt?”</p>
<p>“What?” the man frowns, patting his chest and arms. “Hurt?”</p>
<p>“Your hand?” Harry asks, scratching at his eyes. He grins excitedly at the brown paper inside one of the bags. <em> Bread. </em></p>
<p>Hagrid huffs, emptying the contents of the other one on the small table. “Oh, that?” He draws his hand closer for Harry to see. “It’s nothin’, just a –” he shakes his head, chuckling, “nothin’ ter worry yeh about. It doesn’t hurt,” he adds, when Harry looks unconvinced.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Harry sits down on the lone chair. “What did you buy? Bread?”</p>
<p>“Yeh hungry?” Hagrid smirks as he sets the bottle of milk on the worktop, grabbing a glass from the shelf.</p>
<p>“Very,” Harry says, stomach grumbling. <em> How long was I out? </em></p>
<p>“Guess yeh needed the sleep,” he muses, offering Harry the glass of milk, which he gulps down gratefully. “You slept the whole day yesterday.”</p>
<p><em>"The whole day?” </em>Harry coughs, droplets of milk splattering on his palm. He dabs at his eyes, clearing his throat, self-consciously sipping his beverage, drying the wet palm on his pants.</p>
<p>“Err, about that,” Hagrid says, coming behind Harry and patting his back comfortingly, “I checked yesterday an’ the clearin’ was empty, there was no one.” He gives Harry’s shoulder a squeeze when he turns, confused. “Did yeh had to meet with someone?” asks Hagrid with a frown.</p>
<p><em> The clearing was empty? </em>Hagrid’s clothed forearms burst in his vision and thoughts when the man puts his food shopping away.</p>
<p>Harry frowns, hands wrapped around the glass. “How is it possible? Are you sure?”</p>
<p>Hagrid puts the device back on the table and clicks one button. “Sorry lad,” he says, sending him an apologetic look. A second later his stare is fixed on the portable television when it turns on. He gives it a pat on the top when the image comes out all crumbly, a weird hissing noise grating both their ears. “That’s the telly, yeh see what happens in the world,” Hagrid says, eyes twinkling. He turns the screen toward him.</p>
<p>“I see nothing,” Harry frowns at the black screen.</p>
<p>“Bugger!” Hagrid growls, giving the device another shake. “There,” he says, when the image gets clear and starts to gain colour.</p>
<p>On the screen appears a smartly dressed man, with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes, seated behind a reflecting table. One elbow casually rests on the table, where the other is in mid-air as he holds some papers. He winks at the screen, smiling brightly.</p>
<p>“Hello, this is BBC News, I’m Gilderoy Lockhart, the headlines at tw –” The man doesn’t get to finish that the screen immediately turns black.</p>
<p>“Oh, no. I was watching it.” Harry says, frowning at the screen. He is about to pat the top like he saw Hagrid do, but his hand hovers in midair interrupted by Hagrid’s voice.</p>
<p>“Not this idiot, Harry,” the man says gruffly, holding a small remote.</p>
<p>“I thought you wanted me to watch the news,” he quirks his lips, eyeing Hagrid with arching brows.</p>
<p>Hagrid huffs, setting the remote back on the table before ruffing his hair gently. “Later,” he grumbles, pointing at the black screen, “that man is not to be trusted. I knew his good fer nothin’ father.”</p>
<p>Harry’s frown deepens.</p>
<p>“Don’t ask,” the man says with a chuckle. “I’ll find yeh somethin’ ter watch, when this thing is over.” He tilts his chin toward the off telly, checking his watch.</p>
<p>Leaving the empty glass on the table, Harry stands too, shuffling his feet toward the bed and opening the bottom drawers. A bath is in order, yes. He rummages through random items and picks his change for the day.</p>
<p>During his bath he’s still thinking about that <em> other </em> man not showing up, and wondering if he scared him away. He collects foam to distract himself.</p>
<p>Harry exits the bathroom, sighing at the colder air caressing his non-sweaty skin through crispy clothes. Hagrid is seated on the chair, yawning widely as he reads some papers, glasses perched on his nose.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeh changed. Good.” The man removes his glasses, resting his hands on the table. “A person is coming for yeh, I think it would do yeh good.”</p>
<p>“Who?” Harry asks, looking around. He hugs his middle, eyes bulging. “A person for me? For what?” His stomach jumps in his belly, and he hugs himself tighter to stop its wiggling. He walks toward Hagrid, licking his lips. “Do you want me to go?” <em> It was meant to happen, sooner or later. </em></p>
<p>“What?” The man shakes his head, forehead wrinkling. His hands beat on the table when he speaks again. “No, ‘course not. No!” He stands, positioning himself before Harry. “Yeh can stay as long as yeh want,” he says, squeezing his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Who is this person?” Harry squints at him, hands falling gently on his sides. <em> It’s alright. </em></p>
<p>Hagrid scratches his beard, chuckling. He leans against the kitchen counter, half shrugging. “Ah, someone yer age. So yeh can… ” he gives his back to him, first opening the tap, then taking a glass from the shelf, “become friends an’ talk about, er, <em> stuff."</em></p>
<p>Harry raises his eyebrows, left hand resting on the table. “What stuff?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeh know,” the man turns, making a vague hand gesture with his free hand.</p>
<p>“I don’t?”</p>
<p>“She’ll tell yeh, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>
  <em> “She?” </em>
</p>
<p>Hagrid takes a sip of his water, looking apologetic. Harry is about to ask more when he is interrupted by a loud tapping. It’s not a scratching, so it must be a bird of some kind on a nearby tree. <em> How weird. </em></p>
<p>“She’s here!” Hagrid jumps into action, gulping down his water and then slamming the glass on the worktop. He rushes toward the door, taking a second to pat his beard and hair before opening it.</p>
<p>“Hello, Lavender, please come in,” he says, with an affable tone that has Harry’s eyebrows touching his hairline.</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” says a female voice a bit too quickly, “I’ll wait outside for… is he here?” she asks with a laugh.</p>
<p>Hagrid chuckles, turning sideways and urging Harry to come closer. He does, still a bit hesitant. Hagrid pats his back encouragingly.</p>
<p>“Lavender, meet Harry,” he says, moving his arm to indicate first her and then him.</p>
<p>The girl is waiting behind the threshold, one hand holding her bag and the other casually resting inside her jeans pocket. She has blue eyes and long blond hair, falling on one shoulder.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Harry says, approaching. He turns to Hagrid for confirmation and the man nods enthusiastically. “I’m Harry.”</p>
<p>She looks first at Hagrid, then her shoulder sags when Harry comes closer. “I’m Lavender,” she says.</p>
<p>Hagrid claps his hands and throws Harry a jacket that he almost doesn’t catch. “Yeh two have fun,” he says, somewhat hurried. He nods and then closes the door in front of their faces.</p>
<p>Harry is still frowning at the door when the girl nudges him to walk forward, glancing around. “Quick, before he comes back,” she whispers.</p>
<p>“Who comes back?”</p>
<p>She puts a finger on her lips, warning him to be quiet. So he does.</p>
<p>They walk for a few minutes before Harry scratches his ear and goes “Err,” urging her to speak.</p>
<p>“I didn’t think that was true,” Lavender says, shaking her head. She looks at him, lips twitching, before looking straight ahead on the main path.</p>
<p>“What?” asks Harry, almost stumbling on a small rock.</p>
<p>That must have been all the prompting she needed, for she starts talking animatedly and Harry has difficulty catching all of it. </p>
<p>“It started out this morning. My horoscope said: <em> If you find other people gravitating to you for your knowledge or expertise on a particular endeavour, be grateful for all the attention. Don’t sink into yourself and be shy about it, dear Libra’. </em> Those were the exact words,” she adds, touching his arm. “I read it so many times I learned it all by heart.” </p>
<p>She touches said heart with her left hand. Harry’s hand twitches, hoping she removes her hand from his arm. It doesn’t feel comforting, more patronising.</p>
<p>“And then,” she adds with a secret smile interrupted by hair getting into her face. She scowls at it. “As I was saying,” she says, raising her voice, “then the keeper literally <em> ambushed </em> me during my jog,” she laughs noisily, “and asked me to babysit. Anything else?” Lavender smiles brightly at him, squeezing his arm before freeing it from her grasp.</p>
<p>Harry frowns, hands clenched into fists. </p>
<p>“Hagrid is a good man,” he says with a low tone, not liking her one bit. <em> Why would Hagrid pair us up? </em>“He takes good care of me.” He’s hurt for having to explain it to her. It’s none of her business.</p>
<p>“Aw, that’s cute,” she says, sitting on a bench. </p>
<p>Harry stares dumbly at her back as she takes her seat and pats the place next to her. He shakes his head, not sure what’s supposed to happen now.</p>
<p>“I thought you were made up.” She snorts, looking ahead and brushing hair off her cheek.</p>
<p>“Made up?” he asks, looking at her profile.</p>
<p>Lavender’s lips twitch and she turns to look at him, her blue eyes crinkling with mirth. “Yes, the keeper –”</p>
<p>“Hagrid,” Harry interrupts under his breath.</p>
<p>She blinks. “Sure, <em> Hagrid. </em> He randomly comes and asks, <em>'Can yeh look at me nephew? I reckon yeh have the same age.’” </em>She sighs, clearing her throat to regain composure.</p>
<p>Harry narrows his eyes at that. <em> Is she making fun of him? </em></p>
<p>“No offence, but he is a bit weird.” She looks sideways at him, then hums. “Though he said you were the weird one,” she adds, raising an eyebrow. “You look pretty normal to me.”</p>
<p>Harry is at a loss for what to say. “Err, thanks?” He dries his palms on the denim.</p>
<p>“Do you study at the Uni here? You look a bit familiar.”</p>
<p>Harry looks at his hands. “I don’t study, no.” <em> I can’t even read. </em></p>
<p>“Oh.” She seems surprised at that. “You look the geeky type.”</p>
<p><em> Should I say </em> thanks <em> again? </em> Before he has time to open his mouth, she speaks again.</p>
<p>“I study Physics,” she whispers with a small smile. “Nobody believes me when I say that.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Harry grinds some stones with his foot.</p>
<p>Lavender shrugs. “Well, you know.”</p>
<p>“I wish people stopped saying that. I really don’t know.”</p>
<p>She looks at him intently, then laughs. “Now <em> I know </em>why the – Hagrid said you were weird. It’s a nice weird, not a creepy weird.”</p>
<p>Harry perks up at that. “What is creepy weird?”</p>
<p>Patting his shoulder, she then proceeds to tell him just what makes a weird creepy. And Harry realises with dread that in his early human interactions he acted a bit creepy and promises himself that from now on he won’t be creepy at all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello, Severus,” Harry says upon entering the clearing. </p>
<p>He hugs his jacket tightly around his frame, body still not completely healed. Hagrid didn’t want him to leave the hut today, and even tried to convince him by turning the tv on and letting him watch the news for as long as he wanted. </p>
<p>While the offer is tempting, he cannot help coming back here. This was his spot as a swan, before he found the path again on two feet. He has to be here.</p>
<p>He has his stick with him again, mostly for comfort. Looking at the water lapping on the shore, his eyes prickle and the throat constrict. He hasn’t forgotten who he is, despite appearances. </p>
<p><em> A swan, </em>his mind whispers, almost tentatively. It sounds foreign in his ears to say it aloud, but that’s because his body changed. He’s just not used to anymore, and maybe he should do that more often. The mind needs training, they say. And only by failing, it learns, is what no one adds. If failing means walking the world as a man before turning back again, he is ready to fail.</p>
<p>He’s not sure if the man will be here today. <em> Can I greet someone without seeing them first? </em>He forgot to ask that to Lavender, who has very helpful advice on human interactions.</p>
<p>He takes slow steps, making sure the stick beats noisily on the ground. Apparently subtlety is creepy too. It makes sense if one thinks about it, subtle <em> animals </em> are the most dangerous. He didn’t think it applied to humans as well.</p>
<p>Harry looks around, licking his lips. He takes a deep breath when he sees the man, still seated at his position, a tome on his lap.</p>
<p>“I assumed you were back being a swan,” Severus drawls, arching one eyebrow. “Paddling with your friends,” he says, gesturing toward the lake.</p>
<p>Harry huffs a laugh. “I have no swan friends,” he says, looking longingly at the lake. He takes a few steps, not trusting himself if he comes too close. “There is a mated couple, they are laying eggs by now,” he adds, somewhat distractedly.</p>
<p>“What about you? No eggs?” asks Severus, with a tone that makes Harry frown and turn to look at him.</p>
<p>As he does so he blushes, not sure how to answer that. “I’ll need a mate for that.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” The man clears his throat, staring forlornly. His index dipping in the inner edges of the two facing pages. “I was reading about that.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Something interesting?” Harry noticed the book cover with the print of two swans on top, but thought nothing of it. <em> He’s still reading it, </em>Harry thinks. Though he’s not sure if it’s because the book is that captivating, or because it’s long.</p>
<p>The man snaps the book shut, narrowing his eyes at him. “You tell me… ” he says, stretching his legs. “You are the expert in this, Mr Swan.”</p>
<p>“Harry,” he corrects. <em> Mr Swan, what a ridiculous name. </em>He snorts.</p>
<p>Severus twists his lips, then he smirks. “Well, then, being a swan yourself, you probably know everything inside this book.” He holds it up for Harry to see. “Certainly more than Mr… ” then squints at the cover, “Mr Scamander. A renowned zoologist.”</p>
<p>Harry frowns, not sure he understands correctly. He shrugs. “Maybe.”</p>
<p>“Splendid.” The man smiles then, and Harry blinks because it looks nothing like Hagrid’s smile, easy and contagious. It seems like Severus is doing everything to stop his lips from stretching at all and stretching them to the extreme at the same time. “Then you won’t mind confirming your knowledge by answering some questions?”</p>
<p>Harry walks closer, peering at the closed book on the man’s lap. “Err, alright.”</p>
<p>Severus opens the book on a folded page, drumming his fingers as he reads. “What is the phylogeny of swans?”</p>
<p>“The philo –?”</p>
<p>“Phylogeny, as in the evolutionary history of the species.”</p>
<p>“Err,” Harry stares dumbly at the book. “You mean, how many swans are there?”</p>
<p>The man scoffs. “Yes, how many swans are there?” he repeats.</p>
<p>Harry raises his head and squints at the sun. “Err, many, I suppose.” A snort makes him turn and look at Severus, who is watching with amusement. “I’m a mute swan,” Harry says, pointing at the shore. “That was my favourite spot. Still is,” he adds with a small grin. “I remember y –” He stops, swallowing, as he thinks of Lavender’s speech on <em> creepy weird. </em>“Lots of stuff,” he whispers instead, lowering his hand.</p>
<p>Severus' nostrils flare, the open book clasped in his hands. He closes his eyes and a second later opens them again, barely looking at him. “Next question?” he asks, with a casual crossing of legs.</p>
<p>Harry stares with open curiosity at both man and book. “Ready,” he says in a whisper.</p>
<p>Upon noticing the intent looking, Severus picks another folded page, concentrating on the book. He uncrosses his legs, lips thinning as he reads. “Well, how many feathers do swans have in their body?”</p>
<p>“How many fe –?” Harry repeats dumbly, frowning at the book.</p>
<p>Severus sighs. “Yes, how many feathers. Don’t you know?” he drawls, arching an eyebrow.</p>
<p>Opening his mouth to speak, Harry holds a hand in front of his face, then closes it. He starts to count, holding the left thumb up. </p>
<p>“One,” he exclaims before holding up the index, “two,” then holds the middle finger, voice wavering “three?” <em> Just how many are there? </em> “This is too difficult.”</p>
<p>“Is it?” Severus asks. “You managed to reach three, you can probably do five,” he adds, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, left thumb brushing rhythmically on the stick. “No, it’s… there are too many.”</p>
<p>“Twenty-five thousand,” the man says with a smirk. “May I suggest reading more and preaching less, if you want to play the part well?” He closes the book, showing the cover to Harry. “This would be a good place to start.”</p>
<p>He approaches, frowning. “Play the part? What part?” </p>
<p>The stick thuds lightly alongside him and Severus narrows his eyes at it.</p>
<p>“Have a read,” he says instead, passing him the book. “The title is,” he twists his lips, “a bit too ostentatious for my tastes, but it’s relatively well written and the data is well validated with a fine bibliography.That is, if one wants to deepen the subject.”</p>
<p>Harry holds it reverently, smiling at the front picture. There are two mated swans, neck intertwined, locked in an obvious display of affection. He blushed the first time he saw it, caught off guard. But while his cheeks still redden against his will, his stomach cramps in his belly, full of yearning. <em> Why don't I have that? </em></p>
<p>He imagines how it was for them to meet in a flock of swans and to notice each other. In close proximity, side by side, they started to court one another. Heads dipping below the surface of the water, preening at each other. They would start touching, more and more insistently, their eyes never leaving each other, and moving in sync. And then it <em> happens, </em>they mate.</p>
<p>Harry blinks at the book, caressing the soft paperback. <em> Will I get that too? </em>He smiles at Severus, giving the book back. Drying his palm on his jeans, he asks “What’s the title?”</p>
<p>The man blinks a few times, almost lost in thoughts. </p>
<p>“Can’t you read that?” His brows furrowed, he dries the cover with his sleeve.</p>
<p>
  <em> Was my hand wet?  </em>
</p>
<p>“I can’t read,” Harry says with a small smile.</p>
<p>Severus almost drops his book, and his expression closes off. “There is nothing to be smiling about.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sor –”</p>
<p>“They never taught you?” Severus asks, nostril flaring again.</p>
<p>“No,” Harry says, licking his lips.</p>
<p>“Did you go to school?”</p>
<p>“No,” he says again, the man becoming more and more uncomfortable with each passing answer. “What can I –?”</p>
<p>Severus interrupts him with a hand gesture. He shakes his head, putting the book back in his messenger bag. He shakes his head before his eyes narrow again. “Do you like stories?”</p>
<p>Harry widens his eyes, intrigued.</p>
<p>“I take that as a yes,” the man whispers. “Well, then.” He clears his throat, fixing the strap of his bag. “I’ll think of something,” he mutters to himself as he gets ready to leave, giving his back to him. “Not <em> The wondrous world of swans –” </em></p>
<p>“Err, tomorrow?” Harry asks. His toes curl in his shoes. <em> I’m not as terrible at this friend thing as I thought I was. </em></p>
<p>Severus exhales, pressing index and thumb against his temples. “I suppose.”</p>
<p>Harry grins, stick dipping in the ground. <em> I suppose too.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There again?” Hagrid asks, when Harry places his hand on the door handle. The man is reading a newspaper and grunting all the while. <em> Why not turn the telly on? It’s more fun watching news. </em> Harry’s hand slips off the cold surface as he faces the man.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says with a small smile. He snorts at Hagrid, whose eyes are glued to the page with his nose constantly wrinkled. Nudging his spectacles, the man shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Rubbish,” he mutters, wetting the tips of the index and thumb before turning the page.</p>
<p>“Is it alright?” Harry asks, licking his lips. The walking stick is leaning against the doorframe.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, yes,” Hagrid says distractedly. “Wouldn’t want ter be late.”</p>
<p>Harry hesitates, drying the hands on his pants. “Err –”</p>
<p>Hagrid seems to sense this, for he looks at him. “Lockhart at twelve, is it?” He purses his lips, the name a bitter taste on his tongue.</p>
<p>Harry chokes a laugh, his shoulders sagging. “I would never miss him for the world.”</p>
<p>“Off with yeh, then.” Hagrid makes a hand gesture, then clears his throat and his tone becomes cautious. “Don’t be late?”</p>
<p>Harry remembers the chat Hagrid had with him, about <em> watches </em> and <em> time. </em>He gave him a watch with moving needles, but Harry found that far too complicated, so he gave him one with written numbers. He told him to get back home when the numbers read 12:00. Hoping he’ll remember that, Harry taps the smudged screen of his digital watch. He grins. </p>
<p>“I won’t.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The air is crisp, but the jumper he is wearing is so warm that Harry is breathing heavily when he reaches the clearing. The man is seated at his stool, but a new one, similar in shape, is right beside him, both of them facing the lake.</p>
<p>Harry looks in awe at it, a grin breaking upon his face. </p>
<p>“Oh, is it for me?” he asks, as he inspects it, coming closer.</p>
<p>The man is removing grass blades from his messenger bag, open on his lap. </p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. “I cannot have you stomping about,  distracting me from reading. Sit,” he adds, with a gentler tone.</p>
<p>Harry does, sighing in relief. </p>
<p>“What are we reading?” he asks, peering at the books peeking out from Severus' bag. He holds the stick between his legs, then lays it on the grass and faces the man fully.</p>
<p><em>"We </em>are not reading anything, I am. You are apparently illiterate, remember?” he drawls, raising his eyebrows. Taking out the first book, Severus smirks. “I personally picked our titles with a certain amount of consideration. I am sure you will appreciate that.”</p>
<p>Harry yawns, dabbing at his watery eyes. </p>
<p>“Alright,” he mumbles.</p>
<p>Severus purses his lips at that. “If you would rather be in your bed instead –”</p>
<p>“No, of course not. I love stories,” he rushes, turning his body to the right so that his back is to the clearing’s entrance. Leaning forward, the stool creaks under his weight.</p>
<p>The man turns too, moving his stool backwards a few steps. </p>
<p>“Very well,” he says, setting his bag on the ground and holding the first book in his lap.</p>
<p>It’s another paperback, the colour a deep orange with a white stripe. </p>
<p>“How many pages are there?” Harry squints at the text block, not sure how long it will be.</p>
<p>“Enough pages,” Severus answers, opening the first page. He frowns as he skims, then opens a dog eared page. He brushes his right hand on the paper, his other hand holding the left corner. Clearing his throat, he looks at Harry intently. “Do not interrupt. Questions at the end.”</p>
<p>Squeezing his knees, Harry grins. </p>
<p>“That’s fine, I can wait till later.” He checks his watch, which reads 9:15. “I have to get back at midday, I can’t be late.”</p>
<p>“Curfew, is it?” Severus says casually, still looking at the page. “We won’t finish this today, I’m afraid. It will take a few days, at the very least.” He raises his gaze, thoughtful.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s fine by me. I don’t mind.” Harry grins, looking expectantly at the book.</p>
<p>Severus sighs. </p>
<p>“Well, then, let’s begin.” Drawing the book closer to his face, the man clears his throat, then starts to read with mellow cadence. “As Gregor Samsa woke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed into some kind of monstrous vermin.”</p>
<p>Harry jerks, body shivering.</p>
<p>
  <em> "He lay on his hard, armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little, he could see his curved brown abdomen, divided by arch-shaped ridges, and domed so high that the bedspread, on the brink of slipping off, could hardly stay put. His many legs, miserably thin in comparison with his size otherwise, flickered helplessly before his eyes." </em>
</p>
<p>Cheek twitching, Harry half shrugs as he plays with his hands.</p>
<p>
  <em> ‘What has happened to me?’ he thought. It was not a dream. His room, a proper, human being’s room, rather too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. Above the table, on which his collection of textile samples was spread — Samsa was a commercial traveller — there hung the picture he had recently cut out from an illustrated magazine and mounted in a pretty gilded frame. It showed a lady* posed sitting erect, attired in a fur hat and fur boa, and raising a heavy fur muff, which swallowed her arm right up to the elbow, towards the viewer. </em>
</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, belly contracting. </p>
<p>“I don’t like this,” he mumbles, blinking at Severus.</p>
<p>The man twists his lips. </p>
<p>“No, now you listen.” He opens his mouth, when Harry interrupts again.</p>
<p>“Please,” Harry croaks, lip trembling, “don’t do this.” He stands, sniffing, “Where’s my stick?”</p>
<p>Severus stands too, his hand twitching.</p>
<p> “Wait, I –” he clears his throat and Harry looks at him. The man’s expression is conflicted. “Fine, I shall read something else.”</p>
<p>Harry’s shoulders sag in relief, lips tilted upwards. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, the man encourages him to take a seat. Then he sits too, slipping the book back in his bag with a frown. Pursing his lips, he takes out a second book, this one is of a similar size, but the cover of a dark black colour. Severus opens it and immediately turns to a certain page, his lips twitching. “This is a really compelling read. It’s not for everyone.” He looks at Harry, his expression searchingly.</p>
<p>“Is it a story, though?” Harry asks, biting his lips.</p>
<p>Severus frowns, caressing the spine of the book. “All books are stories.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Harry smiles, hands on his thighs.</p>
<p>Averting his gaze, Severus starts to read.</p>
<p>
  <em> "People trying to attract the good will of a sovereign usually offer him something they care a lot about themselves, or something they’ve seen he particularly likes. So rulers are always being given horses, arms, gold brocades, jewels and whatever finery seems appropriate. Eager myself to bring Your Highness some token of my loyalty, I realized there was nothing more precious or important to me than my knowledge of great men and their doings, a knowledge gained through long experience of contemporary affairs and a constant study of ancient history. Having thought over all I’ve learned, and analysed it with the utmost care, I’ve written everything down in a short book that I am now sending to Your Highness." </em>
</p>
<p>Harry blinks. <em> What? </em></p>
<p>
  <em> … I feel sure the experience it contains will make it welcome, especially when you think that I could hardly offer anything better than the chance to grasp in a few hours what I have discovered and assimilated over many years of danger and discomfort. I haven’t prettified the book or padded it out with long sentences or pompous, pretentious words, or any of the irrelevant flourishes and attractions so many writers use; I didn’t want it to please for anything but the range and seriousness of its subject matter. </em>
</p>
<p>Yawning as quietly as possible, Harry scratches his ear. It’s starting to get cold again, the sun now hidden by clouds. He wonders how many hours have passed and checks his watch, which reads 9:45. Harry frowns, stopping another yawn from escaping. If he closes his eyes, the birds seem to chirp louder, the water smelling stronger, and Severus' voice sounding softer. So soft that…</p>
<p>
  <em> … of a people and a man of the people to know the character of a prince. Your Highness, please take this small gift in the spirit in which it is given. Study it carefully and you will find that my most earnest wish is that you should achieve the greatness that your status and qualities promise. Then if, from the high peak of your position, you ever look down on those far below, you will see how very ungenerously and unfairly life continues to treat me. </em>
</p>
<p>… head drooping and hands resting on his lap, he falls asleep. </p>
<p>Psst. A sound so close to his ears, the buzzing of a fly. Harry scrunches up his face, neck hurting. <em> Why is it hurting? </em>Something warm touches his shoulder and he leans into it, moaning softly. The touch is gone the next second, followed by more urgent buzzing. A gentle breeze makes him shiver and twitch his nose, but it’s alright, it’s not cold. He still has his jumper on. The water is so close, and his hands are cold. Has he dipped them in water? His feet are there still, but he can’t feel them at all. </p>
<p>
  <em> Am I a swan again?  </em>
</p>
<p>A light crunching noise, almost a flicker. His hands are enclosed in something soft and warm. They feel whole, not thin, miserable legs. His are heavy, supported by bones, compressed in muscle, with layers of skin. He is no <em> monstrous vermin. </em></p>
<p>He frowns as his head tips to the other side. Chin sticky, his hand twitches as he tries to brush it off, but it’s too heavy for him to move. It’s like the early days of being human. </p>
<p>
  <em> Am I reliving  this all over again?  </em>
</p>
<p>It can’t be, can it? A lighter touch on his shoulder, almost unnoticed. A repetitive motion, too gentle for comfort. He frowns harder, eyelids flickering.</p>
<p>Opening his eyes, Harry jerks his head, staring groggily at Severus. The man is looking at him, eyes narrowed but lips tilted upwards. <em> Is he smiling? </em></p>
<p>“Wha’ hap’?” Harry mumbles, the rest of his words swallowed by a giant yawn. “The story?” he asks, looking around. </p>
<p>His hands prickle and he moves his fingers, willing the numbness away. <em> There was a cloth on my hands. Is it gone? </em>He looks down at the grass under his feet, confused.</p>
<p>“You fell asleep,” Severus says, taking a few steps back.</p>
<p>Harry blinks at him, then turns his head to the side to dry his chin on the jumper. </p>
<p>“Oh.” He looks at the empty stool in front of him, Severus half blocking the view. Shaking his head of remnants of sleep, he mumbles, “Where’s the book?”</p>
<p>The man sighs, crossing his arms. “I’m afraid those books were not suitable for you.”</p>
<p>Harry simply hums in response, stretching his legs.</p>
<p>Pursing his lips, Severus continues, “I will think more carefully on what books to bring to your attention, seeing as you are so <em> delicate </em>about certain topics.”</p>
<p>Harry frowns at him. </p>
<p>“I’m not delicate,” he says, sparing him a glance. “I’m just not used to all this at all.”</p>
<p>“You mean reading?” Severus smirks, fingers tightening on his forearms before he uncrosses his arms.</p>
<p>Sighing, Harry licks his lips. His watch reads 12:05, so he bends his arm and grabs the stick. Standing up, he shakes the dirt off of it, then addresses Severus. </p>
<p>“I mean all of it, even reading.” <em> The water is so calm today, is the mated couple alright? </em>“Interacting with people,” he snorts at the man’s raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>“I’m not the most apt to ask for advice when it comes to social interactions. On this we are equals,” the man whispers, lost in thought, as he stares at him.</p>
<p>Central vision means there’s more to the eyes than what’s in front of you. There’re the sides, ruffled trees, and a light blue sky. A whole body language to explore, sometimes all crammed in a face. Sometimes, more than a cob crashing him with his body, there’re human’s intent gazing, similarly choking and intimidating. </p>
<p>
  <em> What is he looking at? </em>
</p>
<p>“Apologies,” the man says smoothly, as he turns to grab his satchel and stool.</p>
<p>Harry takes a deep breath, moving out of the way when Severus approaches again to fold the stool he’s been sitting in. </p>
<p>“Err,” he scratches his ear, “see you tomorrow?” The stick is cold and grainy under his palm.</p>
<p>The man stops what he is doing to frown at him. He closes his eyes before answering, </p>
<p>“Yes, I’ll find books to entertain your bird’s mind,” he says, making Harry laugh.</p>
<p>Grinning at him, Harry starts to walk away. “Thanks, I can’t wait.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yer late!” Hagrid barks, when Harry crosses the threshold, the door creaking ominously.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sorry. I fell asleep.” He smiles sheepish as he closes the door, leaning the stick against the doorframe.</p>
<p>“Fell asleep? Ere yeh sick?” The man stands to put a hand on his forehead before Harry has time to make another move.</p>
<p>Harry closes his eyes, relieved by the comforting gesture.</p>
<p>“No fever. Do yeh feel dizzy?” Hagrid asks with concern as he lets him take his seat at the table.</p>
<p>Harry frowns. “No, no dizziness. Though I’m sweating a bit,” he adds, moving his hair out of the way. Huffing, he dabs at his forehead.</p>
<p>Hagrid takes on a pensive expression as he looks at him, then his eyes narrow. </p>
<p>“I told yeh not ter be late,” he grunts, before setting a glass of water in front of his face, a bit too roughly.</p>
<p>Harry gulps it down and sighs. “I know, sorry. Severus was reading a book, and I fell asleep.” He hugs the now empty glass with both hands, drumming his thumbs. “And I missed my curfew.” He shakes his head at himself.</p>
<p>Hagrid barks a laugh. <em>"Curfew?</em> Who said anythin’ ‘bout a curfew?” His forehead crinkles in confusion.</p>
<p>Harry bites his lips, blushing. “No one said it. That’s my vocabulary expanding,” he says with a small grin.</p>
<p>Snorting at him, Hagrid leans against the kitchen counter. </p>
<p>“At this rate, I hope yer vocabulary will fit through the door,” he teases, chuckling.</p>
<p>Harry smiles distractedly, still holding the glass.</p>
<p>“I suppose,” Hagrid continues, clearing his throat, “that we should thank this <em> Severus </em> person fer that.”</p>
<p>He is answered with a half-shrug.</p>
<p>“Maybe I should meet ‘im.”</p>
<p>“Who?” Harry blinks at Hagrid, who is wrinkling his nose.</p>
<p>“’Ere yeh listenin’ ter me?” the man says impatiently.</p>
<p>Harry blinks again, “Yes, of course.” He frowns. “You want to meet Severus?”</p>
<p>Sighing, Hagrid approaches the table and puts his hands around Harry’s, before gently unwrapping the fingers from around the glass. Taking the object away, he turns to fill it again with tap water. </p>
<p>“Yes,” he declares, “I want ter meet yer friend. Alright?” He sets the glass back on the table, which Harry promptly gulps down a second time.</p>
<p>“When?” Harry asks, already thinking it through. “Tomorrow?”</p>
<p>Hagrid shakes his head. “No, ‘course not. Maybe he could join us fer lunch, what do yeh think? I could cook those <em> sausages </em>yeh like.” He wrinkles his nose.</p>
<p>Harry frowns at that. “Yes, I like that. Great idea.” </p>
<p>He’s thrilled about Hagrid meeting his friend, so that he worries less about his whereabouts every day, and Hagrid can talk to Severus about him being a swan. Harry’s not so sure the man believes him.</p>
<p>“Just ask yer friend when he’s free, I could have Lavender over too,” Hagrid muses.</p>
<p>“Oh, alright.” Harry shakes his head at Hagrid’s expression. <em> Don’t ask. </em>Looking around, he frowns. “We don’t have enough chairs.”</p>
<p>Hagrid chuckles. “We’ll work somethin’ out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a smaller book this time. The two stools are very close to one another, and when Harry frowns inquisitively at them, Severus simply sighs and says that he has to show him pictures too. Harry grins excitedly as he takes his seat near Severus, impatient to begin. </p>
<p>While Severus flicks through the pages, Harry raises his head, closing his eyes as the gentle rays of the sun bathe his face with warmth. He has been thinking all night about Severus visiting the hut, and he really can’t wait for that to happen. He cares deeply for Hagrid, and his stomach flips with excitement as he thinks of him meeting his friend. </p>
<p>His left leg jumping up and down, he opens his eyes only to see Severus scowling at him. “What is it?”</p>
<p>The man indicates his moving leg. </p>
<p>“It is distracting,” he says. </p>
<p>Harry stops immediately, frowning at it. </p>
<p>“I didn’t know I was doing that,” he mumbles.</p>
<p>“It’s fine. You are overly excited or perhaps nervous. Hopefully the former,” the man says, twisting his lips. </p>
<p>“Oh.” Harry grins at him. “I’m not nervous. I like it here.” </p>
<p>He looks at the alder in bloom, the white, ruffled flowers with reddish cones hanging from the branches. The clear water, fish buzzing underneath. The ground is brown, but it’s scattered with some green blades. </p>
<p>“It’s so peaceful,” he whispers, “and beautiful,” he adds, his stare fixed to the lake. </p>
<p>
  <em> When will I get back? </em>
</p>
<p>“It is,” Severus breathes beside him, “it truly is.” Clearing his throat, he opens a page before murmuring, “The book?”</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, smiling at him. “I hope it’s a good story.”</p>
<p>“The very best,” Severus answers, mysteriously. </p>
<p>Placing his hand on his thigh, Harry sighs. </p>
<p>“Ok, you can begin.” He frowns a second later, when the muscle goes rigid under his hand. <em> That’s not my thigh. </em> Looking down, he notices he is touching Severus’, so he removes his hand immediately, blushing. “Oh, so – sorry, Severus.”</p>
<p>The man exhales shakily before pursing his lips. “Let’s begin with our story, shall we?” </p>
<p>Harry grins excitedly. </p>
<p>Frowning, Severus closes the book again, marking the page with his thumb. “A premise, first.” </p>
<p>He clears his throat, turning toward him.</p>
<p>They are very close to one another, so much that if Harry leaned against him imperceptibly, their shoulders would brush through fabric. Humans like to touch, but they have been taught so many times that touching is bad, because it may not be welcome. </p>
<p>Hagrid likes to show his affection, but also told him that he shouldn’t be so open to strangers or tentative friends, because they wouldn’t understand where the desire to touch comes from. To Harry, touching is like flying. Just knowing he has wings. He breathes a little easier, even though he doesn’t fly often and mostly just stretches his wings. While terribly missing his appendices, he likes hands and textures. </p>
<p>He wishes that he could touch him too, that Severus would welcome it. </p>
<p>“This book is called <em>The little Prince,</em> and it reads like a children book.” He shows him the drawing on the cover, of a child standing on what looks like a grey rock, looking at the starry sky. </p>
<p>“That’s the moon,” Severus says, indicating the rock. </p>
<p>“How does he get there?” Harry asks in awe. </p>
<p>Severus' lips twitch. “We have to read it to find out.”</p>
<p>“Then read!” Harry says exasperated. </p>
<p>The man chuckles lightly. Leaning forward so that Harry can see the pictures too, he begins reading. </p>
<p>It’s the story of an airplane pilot, who loves drawing animals and adventures, and finds adults boring and unable to understand simple things. Harry snorts, interrupting Severus who frowns at him. He too finds adults boring, but he thought boredom was a human thing, now this book tells him it’s an adult thing? </p>
<p>The man continues to read and Harry listens as he looks at the drawings. They look so beautiful, he wishes he could use his hands to create something just as beautiful as this. </p>
<p>After an accident in the desert, the pilot meets a small person, which he later on calls <em> little prince. </em>The pilot is happy because the prince understands things, unlike adults. But he is also mysterious, because he likes to ask questions but he never answers the ones the pilot asks him. He comes from another planet, where everything is so small. </p>
<p>When they reach chapter six Harry blurts, “I’ve never seen a sunset, not as a human.”</p>
<p>Severus sighs, closing the book. </p>
<p>“Why is that?” he asks, looking at the lake, his voice merely a whisper. </p>
<p>Harry licks his lips. “I don’t know, I can’t see the sun leaving the sky from the hut window. There’s trees covering the view.”</p>
<p>“The hut?” </p>
<p>“Yes. The park’s hut. I live with Hagrid, the keeper.” Harry squints at the sun high in the sky. <em> Is it already time to go? </em></p>
<p>Severus looks troubled at that. “Why do you live with him?”</p>
<p>“He found me, kept me safe.” Harry frowns when he notices Severus' jaw clenching. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Is he taking advantage of you?” Severus asks, not looking at him.</p>
<p>“He sometimes doesn’t let me watch the news, he doesn’t like the presenter. Hagrid says the man is stupid.” Harry shakes his head, smiling. “I like him, he has a nice smile.” Noticing Severus' smirk, Harry continues, “Hagrid is kind, and patient.” He chuckles. “Sometimes you are too, when you’re not grumpy.”</p>
<p>Severus raises his eyebrows. </p>
<p>“I’m not grumpy,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “You wear people’s patience very thin.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do that.” Harry grins. “Sorry,” he adds as an afterthought.</p>
<p>“This is the least heartfelt apology I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing,” Severus drawls.</p>
<p>“You don’t look pleasured.”</p>
<p>Severus huffs a laugh. </p>
<p>“May I resume?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Without interruption, this time?” he adds, pursing his lips.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Harry says, leaning forward to see the drawing better.</p>
<p>Blinking when Severus turns the page after finishing chapter seven, Harry puts his hand on the page, effectively stopping his reading of the new chapter. The man looks confused at that, so Harry merely shrugs and removes his hand, holding it in a fist on his lap. </p>
<p>“What is it?” Severus asks, looking around. </p>
<p>There is a gentle breeze coming east that tickles at his nape. Harry shakes his head, licking his lips. </p>
<p>“It’s nothing,” he whispers as he stretches his legs, shoes pointing upwards.</p>
<p>“It’s not ‘nothing’. I have other books if you’d like,” Severus says gently. </p>
<p>Harry smiles at him, then looks back at the water. </p>
<p>“Fancy a swim?” the man drawls, amused. </p>
<p>Laughing, Harry makes a face. “Last time I tried I caught a fever.” </p>
<p>He crosses his legs, sighing at the warm rays caressing him.</p>
<p>Severus snorts. </p>
<p>“That is because of your delicate constitution,” he says, his stool creaking under him. </p>
<p>Harry opens one eye, noticing the man is quietly enjoying the sun like he is. Looking at the book resting on the man’s lap, Harry frowns. </p>
<p>“Yes, like a flower,” he mutters under his breath. Hugging his arms around his middle, Harry wills his stomach to stop contorting.   </p>
<p>Severus sighs. </p>
<p>“The book upset you.” His knuckles whitening on the book, he opens his mouth to speak, “I –”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Harry interrupts. “Maybe we should stop here, I think it’s late for me.” Checking his watch, he turns to Severus a second later, having already forgotten the time. “Yes.” He nods, standing on wobbly feet and taking a few steps back. “We can continue tomorrow. Is that alright?”</p>
<p>Severus frowns, hands twitching. </p>
<p>“Yes, of course.” He looks at the cover of the book, lost in thought, then he shakes his head. “Splendid, I will –” He stands, not finishing his sentence.</p>
<p>“Yes, it’s perfect,” Harry says quickly, walking toward the clearing’s exit. “See you tomorrow.” He gives his back to him, not waiting for an answer. </p>
<p>
  <em> What is wrong with me? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The following day, Harry doesn’t elaborate on what <em> upset </em>him about the book, and Severus doesn’t ask, much to his relief. He’s not sure he has an answer, not an elaborate one that actually makes sense. Maybe it was the prince crying over something as inconsequential as a flower, or the comforting presence of the pilot, rocking him. He doesn’t really know, nor does he wish to know at this point.</p>
<p>They continue their reading from chapter eight, stopping every once in a while to stare at drawings, or to comment on passages. It’s Severus who does that, while Harry simply hums accordingly, not quite grasping critical thinking. </p>
<p>The man likes the sound of his own voice, Harry realises, and doesn’t much like being interrupted during his hypothesis. On the other hand, he also stares and asks Harry what’s on his mind, which he finds a bit unnerving. When he takes some time before answering, Severus says whimsically that people tend to lie when asked, to adjust their thoughts to the person they are talking to. But then Harry challenges him and stares too. </p>
<p>They are seated close to one another, so much that he can see specks of brown in the man’s eyes and he smiles triumphantly when he notices they are not so black after all. Even the deepest part of a lake is not as scary when one swims in it.</p>
<p>Harry uses Severus' words and tells him to, “Ask what’s on my mind.”</p>
<p>Severus takes on a troubled expression and stares off to the side. After a moment he mutters, “Better to keep your secrets,” nearly inaudibly.</p>
<p>Harry stands bewildered, but doesn’t have enough time to respond before Severus begins reading again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As much as he likes to listen, other things catch Harry’s eye and that he didn’t spot the day before, or when they were reading with more distance between them. The dog-eared pages, for one, especially in the second half of the book. Underlined words litter the pages, which confuses him because to him they are merely characters with no explanation attached. </p>
<p>Yet, while not caring for them, he knows they must mean something to Severus and he can’t keep his curiosity in check for long. After staring quizzically at a drawing of a man who had too many drinks Harry asks, “What do the underlined words mean?”</p>
<p>Severus sighs, exasperated, “I thought we agreed on no interruptions?” he says, squinting at his surroundings.</p>
<p>“I know, but this is about the book. Those are words in the book,” he retorts, indicating the current page, though there are no underlined words in there.</p>
<p>“This is more relevant to me as a reader than it is about the book as an object,” he answers, flicking lazily through the pages.</p>
<p>Harry thinks the man is simply avoiding the question, so he is surprised when Severus opens a dog-eared page toward the end, where the words underlined occupy the whole page.</p>
<p>“This is a favourite passage of mine,” his lips quirk to the side and he scoffs at himself. “Actually, this <em> is </em> my favourite passage,” he adds with a whisper, the smile slowly leaving his face.</p>
<p>Harry frowns, not wanting to disturb the moment. The illustration shows an animal on one of the pages, peeking out of a nest in the uneven ground. A healthy tree at the top of a small hill, a few flowers scattered near the opening of the nest, seemingly dishevelled in the wind. The animal appears to be assessing the outside world, its front paws casually resting on the earth, but seemingly ready to bolt at any minute.</p>
<p>“What does it say here?” Harry asks, his fingers brushing the block of text under the drawing. He smiles upon feeling the lines under his fingertips, words underlined over and over with straight precision and no smears.</p>
<p>Severus looks at him before shaking his head and taking a deep breath. </p>
<p>“We have not reached that point in the book yet,” he says with an eerily calm voice that makes Harry blink in surprise. The man’s jaw is clenched and his lips twitch, though not his voice.</p>
<p>
  <em>Emotions come from within, don’t they? They pass through the belly, where everything mysteriously moves, whether it be for a laugh, a retort, or a gentle smile. It’s like throwing up, in a way. You know it’s happening and it does so with a strength that takes your breath away, and that you can’t stop. Try swallowing up vomit. It’s not very nice. It goes back down, and there is no escaping. As rancid as it is, there is no escape. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> How does Severus manage, then? How is he so strong-willed and how can he control his voice, but not the twitch? </em>
</p>
<p>“I guess, yeah,” Harry says, half shrugging. “I can’t wait to read it, though, when it is time.” </p>
<p>He smiles at Severus, showing him it’s alright, he’ll stop asking stupid questions.</p>
<p>Severus tilts his head to the side, inspecting him. Shaking his head, he fondly says, shoulders sagging in relief, “Nor can I.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gilderoy Lockhart sighs heavily after the last piece has aired. He aligns the edges of a stack of papers on the table with a small frown, beaming a second later when Camera 3 adjusts to a close-up of his face. </p>
<p>“And that was Hermione Granger on The Business Report. Now, onto lighter topics,” he chuckles, “let’s see if a picnic is on our plans this weekend. Mandy?”</p>
<p>The camera switches and Lockhart is no longer within view, so Harry turns his gaze from the telly and bites hungrily into a loaf. Hagrid shakes his head and lowers the volume with the remote, biting into his sausage and making all kinds of loud noises. Rolling his eyes, Harry points his fork menacingly, his own sausage wobbling slightly.</p>
<p>“Don’t point that at me!” Hagrid grunts, holding the remote tightly before taking a sip of his water. “I can’t even look at it,” he adds, wrinkling his nose as he takes a bit of his own, juicier one.</p>
<p>“It tastes nice,” Harry says, nibbling at it and glaring at the half-eaten sausage on Hagrid’s plate. “No need for you to be rude about it.”</p>
<p>“Tastes like crap, more like,” Hagrid mutters, eyes bulging a second later at the slip-up. He shrugs and sets the ketchup on Harry’s plate. “Here, yeh’ll need plenty of this ter cover up the flavour.”</p>
<p>“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. <em>"This </em> sausage tastes really nice,” he says, looking at the brownish thing forked on his plate. “And it looks just like yours,” he adds, eyeing the sheen of the meat sausage with a small frown. “I bet they taste the same.”</p>
<p>“Hell no!” Hagrid slams his hand on the table, making the water in their glasses slosh back and forth for a few minutes. “Yeh’d say that ‘cause yer used ter eat grass. That’s what that thin’ tastes like.” He points his knife at the sausage on Harry’s plate, nodding to himself.</p>
<p>Harry glares, taking some more bites and washing them down with gulps of water and chunks of bread. </p>
<p>“You say that ‘cause you haven’t tasted it,” he says as he chews. “I’m sure I can make you change your mind if you do.”</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs as he cuts his last bite with the knife, and juice oozes out of the meat. He dabs a chunk of bread in it to catch it all and plops it in his mouth, alongside the piece of sausage. </p>
<p>“I could say the same,” Hagrid says with a satisfied look on his face as he leans against the back of the chair.</p>
<p>Harry eyes the man’s plate with some envy but, standing his ground, he finishes his vegan sausage, moaning at regular intervals. Hagrid chuckles and stands, bringing his dish with him.</p>
<p>“Did yeh ask yer friend fer lunch?” Hagrid asks casually, his back to him as he washes the dish and cutlery.</p>
<p>Taking a small bite of his food, Harry shrugs, though the man can’t see. </p>
<p>“Err, no, actually.” There’s a loud clatter in the sink that has him cringing in response. “I forgot about it.” He sips at his water before continuing, “I’ll ask him tomorrow, I promise.”</p>
<p>The hot water hisses noisily in the sink and Harry has to tilt his head to the side to hear Hagrid properly. “’Ere yeh sure he’s gonna be there?” </p>
<p>Harry grabs the glass and holds it near his lips. </p>
<p>“Why not?” he asks alarmed, the other hand closed in a fist on his lap. He is about to sip when he blurts, “We meet every day, why should tomorrow be different?” </p>
<p>Setting the glass on the table, he rests his left hand on the top of the chair, effectively turning his body.</p>
<p>Hagrid turns too, looking amused. “Tomorrow is Saturday.” He shakes his head fondly at Harry, who frowns harder. “I know days look the same ter yeh,” he snorts as he takes Harry’s plate and drops it in the sink, “but outside is different, people have lives, yeh know?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Do they?  </em>
</p>
<p>The whole concept is foreign to him. He can’t imagine anything living outside the microcosmos that is the park, not Hagrid, nor Severus. He saw the gates, of course, he would be an idiot not to notice them. But he never ventured near them, nor did he try to touch them to feel if they were as hard and as cold as they looked. </p>
<p>He’s never entertained the idea of leaving. This is his home, this will be his home. It’s fine to fly and migrate, but to walk on two feet and venture outside? He could turn to ashes for all he knows.</p>
<p>“You too?” Harry asks in a small voice.</p>
<p>Hagrid clicks his tongue, annoyed. “Don’t worry about me, I have ter take care of yeh now. Make no mistakes here, I’m free ter leave whenever, but I choose not to.” </p>
<p>Harry bites his lips to keep from smiling, though he doesn’t think he manages if Hagrid’s twinkle is anything to go by.</p>
<p>“Now,” the man calls as he pats the kitchen’s worktop, “come here and clean up.”</p>
<p>Harry groans, without any real bite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first time he met Lavender he found her a bit obnoxious. Though he later warmed up to her, thanks to all the helpful tips she rattled off with her melodic voice. This time, it’s no different. Again he’s only been made aware of her arrival moments after her heavy knock on the door.</p>
<p>Harry purses his lips at Hagrid, who is wearing headphones and looking very intently at the small telly. There’re a few more knocks on the door before Harry gives in and opens it, his pruney fingers warming up on the balmy door frame.</p>
<p>“Hello, Lavender,” Harry says, letting her in.</p>
<p>She sniffs the air upon entering and wrinkles her nose. </p>
<p>“What’s that smell?” she asks, eyeing the kitchen distrustfully.</p>
<p>“Harry’s vegan sausage. It sticks to yer clothes,” Hagrid mutters, without taking his eye off the screen and adjusting his headphones.</p>
<p>Glaring at him, Harry closes the door behind Lavender with a loud slam. </p>
<p>“We can sit on the bed,” he says, indicating the crumpled sheets. “I didn’t know you were coming, I would have cleaned up.”</p>
<p>She looks around uncomfortably, her perfume tickling Harry’s nose. </p>
<p>“Hagrid asked me to come,” she whispers as Harry walks her over to the bed so that they have their backs to the man. “He said you are lonely,” she adds, looking him up and down with a small frown as if loneliness seeps through clothes.</p>
<p>Harry rolls his eyes. </p>
<p>“I’m not lonely,” he hisses with the same low tone. “I have friends, you know.”</p>
<p>Raising her eyebrows, she tucks a lock of hair behind her right ear. “Who are they?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Harry crosses his arms, half shrugging. “There’s you, of course –”</p>
<p>“Of course,” she interrupts, amenable.</p>
<p>“And... ” he bites his lip, staring at Hagrid’s back. At the telly there is some sort of game going on, he is not sure.</p>
<p>“And?” she asks, squeezing his arm.</p>
<p>“Well, there’s Severus.”</p>
<p>“Severus?” Lavender singsongs, making Harry blush. “I never heard of him. Tell me everything,” she says conspiringly, holding on his arm and sitting on the bed. “Wait,” she hisses, looking at Hagrid, “we should do this outside. Yes, great idea Lavender,” she says to herself, walking around the table and dragging Harry with her.</p>
<p>Harry frowns. “Do what outside?” he asks as she opens the main door, waving at Hagrid.</p>
<p>Only when they are outside, their backs to the door, does she speaks again. </p>
<p>“Your love life, of course,” she says, patting his hand gently.</p>
<p>At her words, Harry’s stomach twists uncomfortably. He has half a mind to shake his arm from her eagle grip and to get back in the hut. But there’s a part of him, the inconspicuous one, that’s intrigued and wants to know what she has to say.</p>
<p>“So,” she starts, sitting on the same bench from a few days ago, “tell me everything about him.”</p>
<p>Harry sits, hands playing on his lap. </p>
<p>“There’s nothing to know, he’s my friend.” He shrugs at the scepticism written all over her face.</p>
<p>“How did you two meet?” Lavender asks instead, crossing her legs.</p>
<p>“We met in a small clearing,” he says, nodding toward the direction of the hut.</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t remember a clearing. Can we go see it?” </p>
<p>She stands, brushing off her jeans, and Harry immediately panics. That’s his secret place. <em> His. </em> Not even Hagrid goes there because he <em> knows. </em>As self-centred as that sounds, he doesn’t want her to.</p>
<p>“No!” he exclaims, quickly. “There’s mud everywhere, you wouldn’t like it,” he says, gazing at her ankle boots. Nails digging into his palms, he waits for her response.</p>
<p>“Alright.” She seats again, sighing. “Continue,” she prompts, making a small hand gesture.</p>
<p>“Well, there’s not much to tell. We started talking and now he reads me stories –”</p>
<p>“Come again?” she asks, eyes opening and blinking. He didn’t notice they were closed.</p>
<p>Harry frowns. </p>
<p>
  <em> What is it that she doesn’t understand?  </em>
</p>
<p>“He reads me stories,” he repeats, patiently.</p>
<p>Lavender snorts, and Harry narrows his eyes at her.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with –”</p>
<p>Lavender interrupts him, putting a hand on her chest as if he physically wounded her. </p>
<p>“Of course there’s nothing wrong with it!” Clicking her tongue, she shakes her head at him. “Assuming this of me, that’s not very nice, Harry.”</p>
<p>
  <em> What the heck is she blabbering about? </em>
</p>
<p>Harry sighs. “Listen, this is a misunderstanding. I thought you were making fun of me.” </p>
<p>He looks at the nearby trees. If he raised his head and looked left he would see the head of Dumbledore’s statue peeking out from afar.</p>
<p>“I’m just surprised,” she says with a lazy smile. “I never had someone read for me.” Stretching her fingers to inspect her painted nails, she adds, “This person must care deeply for you.”</p>
<p>Inhaling shakily, Harry licks his lips. “He’s my friend.”</p>
<p>Lavender pats his hand, hers is dry against his clammy one. </p>
<p>“It’s okay, I understand.” Her other hand joins in, holding tightly. He wonders what kind of comfort that’s supposed to give, when she speaks again, with another whisper, “Do you like him?”</p>
<p>His fingertips prickle, so Harry grips her hand harder. “I don’t know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking a stroll in the almost empty park, Harry is not really seeing where he is going. He is mostly following the path, but if asked, he wouldn’t know if he’s left, right, near the lake, off the lake. There are trees, looming over him and checking where he is headed, but he ignores them for the most part. He blinks, staring at nothing in particular, his legs carrying him slowly but steadily. </p>
<p>
  <em> Who would have thought that I’d rely so much on them?  </em>
</p>
<p>Foreign appendices, not wobbling but strong, the muscles stretching. But he’s digressing now…</p>
<p>The sun doesn’t follow his movement, simply there assessing the whole world. </p>
<p>
  <em> How many times have I relied on the sun to guide me and now I don’t notice it anymore?  </em>
</p>
<p>He’s afraid to think of the things he is otherwise <em> noticing. </em>Breath hitching, he walks faster, hands closed into fists.</p>
<p>
  <em> Do you like him? </em>
</p>
<p>He shakes his head of the thought as if shooing away an annoying bug. But as his head spins, his blood pumps faster. Harry swears he feels his heart brushing against the ribcage.</p>
<p>Swans breathe faster, have a more complex breathing system. He’s in apnoea now.</p>
<p>
  <em> Does this body know I’m no swan? </em>
</p>
<p><em> “A penny fer yer thoughts,” </em>said Hagrid after Harry came back from his chat with Lavender. </p>
<p>The man furrowed his brow a second later, and, after much rummaging, gave him a thick golden coin. It’s still in his jeans pocket, and he sometimes takes it out and plays with it. It’s heavy in his palm, and warm with his sweat. He’ll guard it jealously while he still has hands that hold.</p>
<p>
  <em> Do you like him? </em>
</p>
<p>Harry licks his lips as he blinks at his surroundings. His mind has no other words for trees anymore unless it’s his beloved alder. Stomach twisting, he stops and grunts as he notices the lack of benches. </p>
<p><em> I’m getting lazy, </em> is his first thought. And then, <em> how much did I walk? </em></p>
<p>There are gardens all around him, flowers of all colours and shapes. Trees are no more a comfort to him, but, skin prickling, he turns and sees Dumbledore staring at him. Unable to control himself, he walks swiftly toward the figure, stopping short only when he’s at the statue’s feet. </p>
<p>Harry looks around, gaze intently at the thick bush surrounding the area where the statue is erected, his throat scratching and eyes prickling in a tell-tale manner.</p>
<p>
  <em> “Have a walk, it’ll do yeh good.” </em>
</p>
<p>Hagrid’s gruff voice echoes in between his ears, hitting him with such a surge of nostalgia that he has to hold onto one of Dumbledore’s feet in order not to fall. </p>
<p><em> I’m not going anywhere, </em> he thinks bitterly, <em> I’m not missing anything. </em></p>
<p>He sits on the grass, because the raised chunks of concrete are starting to hurt and the grip is slipping. The dew on the beads is a balm to his sore palms, tickling and soothing. He almost decides to lie down on the grass, but Hagrid would worry if he doesn’t come back and falls asleep here. Harry cares for him. He cares for…</p>
<p>
  <em> Liar. </em>
</p>
<p>Harry clutches once at his chest, now pumping wildly. He stretches his legs, sighing as both his hands are enclosed in green. Closing his eyes, he licks his lips.</p>
<p>
  <em> I’m a liar.  </em>
</p>
<p>Images dancing behind his eyelids, of skin close enough to touch, and isn’t that torture for someone who just grew hands?</p>
<p>
  <em> Do you like him? </em>
</p>
<p>The voice is always smooth and soft, tentative. </p>
<p><em> What if I –? </em> But he has no real knowledge of human minds, and human bodies. Or human things. Close enough to touch and <em> isn’t that torture when the only things I can touch freely are the ones that do not exist? </em></p>
<p><em> I don’t know, </em>he answered.</p>
<p>
  <em> I lied. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slightly dragging his feet, Harry follows the path toward the clearing. A dog barks in the distance followed by heavy footsteps, though he is cutting through the trees and knows he won’t be meeting other humans for a while. </p>
<p>Nose twitching, Harry leans against a tree trunk as he sneezes, stopping the birds chirping. They resume seconds later as he dabs at his eyes and gets back to his walking, sniffing all the while.</p>
<p>He is always rushing through the woods,  never taking his time to openly observe for fear of being late. Hagrid told him it is possible that Severus won’t be there today. While the thought saddens him, the quiet in this piece of land doesn’t allow him to be sad for long. </p>
<p>Nature knows he is here, as a human, and as he passes through it there’s life scurrying away and silence, and he laughs, despite the fact that he feels a bit cheated. </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m a swan, can’t you see that? </em>
</p>
<p>If a small sound echoes so loudly in the trees, he doesn’t dare voice his thoughts aloud. Would the leaves collect dew as they do remnants from his eyes?</p>
<p>Soon he hears the water, gently lapping against the shore. He inhales when the trees dissipate, then he’s left with his thoughts. Just as Harry is about to step into the clearing, he slams into someone rushing in the opposite direction.</p>
<p>“What in the bloody hell –?” the man grunts, startled.</p>
<p>“Severus!” Harry gasps, holding onto his arms, which immediately go rigid under his touch. “I – I was about to come.” He removes his hands and looks the man up and down, finally noticing the strap on his shoulder and the stiff grip on the two folded stools. “Sorry I’m late,” he finishes lamely.</p>
<p>Severus huffs, not looking at him. “Yes, if you would be so kind as not to stand there and block the passage?”</p>
<p>Harry frowns at him, stomach twisting. “Why? Are you leaving?” </p>
<p>He takes a step back, letting the man pass through.</p>
<p>Severus doesn’t spare him another glance, and with quick steps he is already at the edge of the forest, walking swiftly.</p>
<p>Peering inside the empty clearing, Harry runs to keep up with him. “Wait, Severus!” echoing through the trees.</p>
<p>Moving his hair out of the way, Harry walks alongside him. “Why are you leaving? Our reading?”</p>
<p>Severus stops and turns toward him, Harry almost stumbling over a rock. </p>
<p>“You think I have nothing better to do with my Saturday than wait around for you?” His cheeks flush and he is breathing noisily through his nose. “Not answering that, are you?” he sneers and Harry is taken aback by the harshness of his features. </p>
<p>The man resumes his walking, raising his chin. “I’ll have you know, I have more serious matters to attend, those that require my constant attention, far more than a child who claims himself illiterate!”</p>
<p>Harry licks his lips, eyes prickling. The stool held in the man’s left hand is hitting his calf with every taken step, but he refuses to put more distance between them.</p>
<p>“Don’t cry on me, I don’t like tears,” the man adds, looking straight ahead.</p>
<p>“Sev –” Harry croaks, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry for missing our date,” he says, blushing. “I thought you wouldn’t come today. Sorry for being late.” </p>
<p>
  <em> I care for you. </em>
</p>
<p>Severus stops short in his tracks, turning so quickly that his shoulder blade collides with Harry’s nose. He cups his nose gingerly while dark eyes narrow at him, disbelief written all over his face.</p>
<p>“Why would you think that? Of co –” The man clenches his jaw, glaring at nothing in particular. He frowns at Harry a second later. “Why are you holding your nose like that?”</p>
<p>Harry gingerly removes the hand cupping his nose, before blinking at Severus. </p>
<p>“Err, I hit a branch,” he says, twitching his nose to check if it still hurts. Apart from a small pang, it feels whole.</p>
<p>Coming closer, the man inspects his face, dropping the stools on the ground. </p>
<p>“You are very clumsy when you want to be, Mr Swan,” the man tuts, the argument forgotten. “You should put some ice on that before it swells up, or worse,” he says, holding Harry’s chin gently and inspecting his face from all angles. </p>
<p>Severus removes his hand a second later, taking a step back and retrieving his stools from the floor. </p>
<p>“I should be on my way,” he says, pursing his lips and blinking at the surrounding trees. “You should as well.”</p>
<p>“Wait!” Harry calls, for what feels like the millionth time that day. His chin prickles and he clears his throat of the roughness that welled up at the man’s touch. “I have to ask you something,” he says.</p>
<p>Severus stops again, almost crossing his arms but the stools he is holding get in the way. </p>
<p>“What is it?” he asks, eyes narrowed again. Harry doesn’t know if he is doing it to assess him or else. He’s no predator.</p>
<p>“Well, Hagrid wants to meet you,” he starts, voice down to a small whisper. “Because we are friends and –” he passes a trembling hand through his hair, “he thought,” Harry gives the man a small smile before looking away again, “he’d like to invite you for lunch, when you are not busy with… with things, and I think –”</p>
<p>Severus huffs. “Will you stop blabbering?”</p>
<p>Harry chokes a small laugh. </p>
<p>“Sorry, I just –” He dries his palms on his jeans, left hand brushing the shape of the coin through the denim. He inhales, taking a deep breath. “I’d love for you to come.”</p>
<p>“Harry, I –”</p>
<p>His stomach jumps unexpectedly at hearing his name from Severus' lips and he hugs his belly with both arms.</p>
<p>Severus frowns at him before continuing, looking conflicted. “I don’t think it’s wise. I have met the man previously and he does not like me.”</p>
<p>“What? When?” Harry furrows his brow, trying to understand when that happened. “He’s a good man, he’s like family to me,” he adds, blinking at his own declaration. It is true, he cares for Hagrid, considers him family. </p>
<p><em> A flock, of sorts.</em> Harry smiles distractedly before continuing, this time not hiding the pleading tone. </p>
<p>“Please, Severus,” he says, approaching. </p>
<p>The man raises his eyebrows, and Harry wonders if he felt it too, the small tremor on his spine.</p>
<p>Severus shakes his head, dropping the stools on the ground and then cupping his face in both hands. Harry frowns in alarm and is about to ask if the man is alright when he hears an “I’m going to regret this,” muttered against skin.</p>
<p>Harry bites his lips hard but the smile still manages to take up its rightful place between his cheeks. He grins so hard his face muscles hurt and he swears the wind is affectionately blowing his hair.  Without thinking about what he is doing, Harry wraps his arms around Severus' midriff, face against the man’s neck.</p>
<p>Severus' body goes rigid, arms setting on Harry’s shoulders. Fearing being pushed away, Harry holds him tightly, face scrunched up. A tremulous sigh is what follows, before the man, all things forgotten, hugs him back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stabbing the sausages in the boiling water with a fork, Harry huffs as the fumes blow on his face. Hagrid is opening a plastic container from the store and setting biscuits on a plate, whistling all the while.</p>
<p>“Open the chocolate bar,” Harry says without sparing him a glance.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeh mean the one yeh bought with yer own money?” Hagrid chuckles, ruffling Harry’s hair as he passes him by.</p>
<p>“Stop joking and check the potatoes,” Harry replies, still frowning at the boiling water.</p>
<p>Hagrid huffs. “Yes, Sir.” </p>
<p>He passes the knife through one in the boiling water and gets back to his telly, leaving Harry alone near the burners.</p>
<p>“Hey, where are you going? Come here and set the table.” Harry looks hard at the sausages floating in the pot, the potatoes boiling gently in the other. “So?” he asks when Hagrid doesn’t answer. “Are they cooked or not?”</p>
<p>Muttering under his breath, the man walks nearby, opening the tap to drink some water. “Not if yeh keep glarin’ at them.”</p>
<p>“I’m not glaring,” Harry says with a small gasp, effectively glaring at Hagrid.</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs, raising his hands. “Yer nervous, sit down. I’ll take care of everythin’.”</p>
<p>“I’m not nervous,” Harry says, biting his lips. The man squeezes his shoulder.</p>
<p>“’S alright, potatoes still have a long way ter go. Those <em> things,"</em> Hagrid wrinkles his nose at the sausages floating in the pot, “are done. How yeh want ‘em?”</p>
<p>Harry frowns, not having thought such lengths. “Alongside the potatoes, I think. They look tasty, no need to look so nastily at them.”</p>
<p>Hagrid ignores the retort. “They look nice, too nice. Almost like real meat.” Looking at the pot, he turns off the stove, draining the water in the sink. “Probably taste like crap too,” he mutters under his breath.</p>
<p> “Maybe we should fry them?” Harry frowns, peering into the pot. The skin of one sausage is stuck to the bottom. “They look a bit pale.”</p>
<p>“Yeh said they looked tasty a moment ago.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Harry says, looking around for the frying pan, “they need to taste tasty too.”</p>
<p>Sighing loudly, Hagrid shoos him out of the way and opens a bottom drawer. “Alright, yeh set the table, I’ll do that.”</p>
<p>Harry happily does as asked, ignoring the muttered “Today’ll be never-endin’,” thrown his way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the knock on the door, Harry bolts, grinning as he opens it with haste. On the other side, Severus is pursing his lips so hard Harry fears they might fall off. He greets him with narrowed eyes and at Harry’s beaming “Hello,” the man's lips twitch minutely.</p>
<p>“May I come in? These are quite heavy.” </p>
<p>He is carrying his two stools, breathing with exertion. </p>
<p>“This park is a labyrinth,” Severus says as Harry moves out of the way to let him inside.</p>
<p>“I’m so happy you are here,” Harry says, drying his clammy hands on his jeans. “Leave those here.” He nods at the stools and then at the floor.</p>
<p>Severus unfolds them with care, then frowns as he looks around.</p>
<p>“Do you like it?” Harry asks, fidgeting. </p>
<p>It’s so strange seeing Severus in a setting that doesn’t involve water plopping in the lake and birds warbling from the nearby trees. There’s no time lost stretching legs on the grass or squinting at the sun, but four cramped walls and fumes from the stove.</p>
<p>“It’s liveable,” Severus drawls, touching the hem of his jacket.</p>
<p>“Oh, give me that!” Harry says with a small laugh, extending his arms. He oofs a second later when Severus throws him both jacket and satchel without much fanfare.</p>
<p>“Are we alone?” the man asks in a low tone while Harry sets his belongings on the bed, inhaling the scent subtly.</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Harry chuckles, petting the jacket before turning toward Severus. “Hagrid is coming, he had things to do. I’m not sure what exactly.” He frowns, half shrugging. </p>
<p>“So,” Harry says with a grin, intertwining his hands in front of his lap.</p>
<p>“So,” Severus repeats, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. He takes a few steps forward, clearing his throat.</p>
<p>Tilting his head to the side, Harry blushes, grinning at the man.</p>
<p>They are interrupted by a loud knock, Severus hastily taking a step back and hitting one of the stools with his calf. He swears under his breath, making Harry laugh.</p>
<p>“Coming,” Harry calls, opening the door with a wide grin. “Finally, we were expecting you,” he says, addressing Hagrid, a nod to Lavender right behind him.</p>
<p><em> "We?” </em>the man grunts suspiciously as he barges in. “What yer smi –?” The words die in his throat as he turns left and sees Severus, rooted to the spot. “Ah,” Hagrid says instead, with a deep sigh.</p>
<p>Harry clears his throat awkwardly. </p>
<p>“Hagrid,” he says, putting himself between the two men, “this is my friend Severus.” </p>
<p>He swallows, sending Severus a trembling smile.</p>
<p>“We’ve met,” Hagrid grunts instead, offering the man his hand with some hesitation.</p>
<p>“We have,” Severus answers, taking the offered hand.</p>
<p>“Well, not me though,” Lavender says with a small laugh, invading Harry’s space. “Nice to meet you Severus,” she says, winking at Harry and sitting at one of the chairs. </p>
<p>She raises her eyebrows at him, looking expectantly.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Harry gasps, “sit Severus,” he says, taking the man’s hand and nodding to the free chair at the small, rectangular table. He squeezes, brushing his fingers on the man’s palm.</p>
<p>Severus sits, taking a deep breath and then sending Harry a warm gaze over the table.</p>
<p>Hagrid clears his throat, making Harry turn. </p>
<p>“Sit on the stool,” Harry says to him.</p>
<p><em>“I </em>will,” Severus says, standing. “Please take my seat.”</p>
<p>Grunting something, Hagrid takes the offered seat, smiling genially at Harry.</p>
<p>“No, Severus, you are our guest.” Harry frowns as the man passes him by to take one of the stools.</p>
<p>“It is fine,” Severus murmurs, “I do not mind. You could say I am used to it by now.” He smirks, causing Harry to blush.</p>
<p>Hagrid clears his throat again, this time more pointedly and Harry huffs at him without any real heat. </p>
<p>“Oh, fine.” He takes the other stool and sits in front of Severus, his back to the front door, Hagrid on his right and Lavender on his left.</p>
<p>“This is so awkward,” Lavender says, squinting at her fork.</p>
<p>“I made sausages,” Harry says, stool falling backward as he stands up to collect the plates.</p>
<p><em> "Vegan </em> sausages,” Hagrid mutters.</p>
<p>“Tasty vegan sausages,” Harry retorts, walking back to the table and setting the plate at the centre. He smiles encouragingly at Severus, who coughs in response. Harry frowns.</p>
<p>“Are these from Holland &amp; Barrett?” Lavender asks, nudging one with her fork.</p>
<p>Harry sighs as he bends to pick up his stool, which creaks under his weight when he sits again. “I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Bring over the potatoes,” Hagrid says, making Harry stand. “We’ll need ‘em.”</p>
<p>As Harry follows the order, he hears Hagrid say “They are,” as an afterthought.</p>
<p>“Here you go,” Harry says with a small exhale, delivering the bowl of mashed potatoes.</p>
<p>Looking at the three people, Harry can’t help but think that everything has aligned with the world. He has a flock, a family of people he can trust to some extent, who helped him navigate the world as a human. His eyes prickle a bit as he looks at them, staring intently at the food at the table, unaware of all the thoughts whirling in his head. </p>
<p><em> I’m going to miss them all when I get back, </em>he thinks, swallowing.</p>
<p>Hagrid, who is now adding an exaggerated amount of salt on his mash, will remain a constant in his life. He was there when Harry was a small cygnet who couldn’t find its parents, when he was a juvenile swan curious of humans, and now, as a human himself. </p>
<p>He accepted Harry in his house and his heart, with his usual no-nonsense attitude. As if knowing Harry is thinking about him, the man winks his way, wrinkling his nose as he takes a bite of his sausage. Harry huffs a laugh.</p>
<p>Severus' gaze bores into him, and Harry has to look down at his still empty plate. As much as he likes Lavender, he can’t even bear thinking about <em> missing </em>the man. A part inside of him seems to rebel at the mere thought, clawing its way outside of his body. </p>
<p>Harry swallows, willing the feeling to go away and covering his white plate with food. He certainly won’t miss <em> this,</em> not the overwhelming emotions that choke his every breath.</p>
<p>“It’s edible,” Hagrid says after a few more bites, interrupting Harry’s musings.</p>
<p>“I actually thought it was going to be so much worse,” Lavender replies with a vigorous nod.</p>
<p>“Do you like them Severus?” Harry asks, holding his fork tightly.</p>
<p>Everyone turns to look at him and the man frowns at the lot of them. The sausage is still on his plate, untouched. </p>
<p>“I had no idea you were… <em> vegan,” </em>he says instead, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p>Harry lowers his fork, flattening his napkin. “Oh, I’m –”</p>
<p>“‘E drinks milk,” Hagrid grunts, looking back at his plate.</p>
<p>“Vegetarian, then, not vegan,” Lavender nods helpfully, grabbing another sausage with her fork.</p>
<p>Severus tightens his lips, turning toward her. “What is your name again? I did not catch it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m actually –” Harry starts, only to be interrupted again.</p>
<p>“Lavender,” she answers, dabbing at her lips. “Severus, is that it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” the man says, cheek twitching.</p>
<p>She examines him closely, much to Severus' annoyance. Harry is about to intervene, when she finally speaks. </p>
<p>“You must be an earth sign.” She smirks. “Rational, pragmatic, loyal, disciplined.” Severus stands a little taller at that, raising his chin, when she continues. “Rigid, serious, possessive.” She glances at Harry, who blushes mortified. “Stubborn,” she finishes, collecting some mash with her fork.</p>
<p>Severus licks his lips, clutching his cutlery with a firm grip. There are two red splotches on his cheeks, and Harry frowns at Lavender before sending a smile Severus' way. </p>
<p>“Patient,” he adds, voice trembling. He clears his throat. “Kind, funny,” he shakes his head, laughing. “Smart.” He blushes at Hagrid’s knowing look.</p>
<p>“Well,” Hagrid says, leaning against the back of the chair. “I expect similar compliments fer me. Maybe not the patient bit,” he chuckles.</p>
<p>Harry smiles distractedly, feeling Severus' gaze throughout.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lavender leaves a little after lunch, hugging him tightly and breathing “Bye,” into his ear, before quickly adding, “He’s so gloomy, I like that,” and forcing a laugh out of Harry’s lips. </p>
<p>Severus stays for tea, chewing distractedly on a rock cake and index brushing the handle of his mug.</p>
<p>Harry slurps at his tea, scrunching up his face a second later when he burns his tongue. They exchange glances behind their respective mugs, smiles being swallowed by over-steeped tea.</p>
<p>Severus' mug clatters against the saucer when he finishes drinking, dabbing at the sides of his mouth with a thumb. Harry stands too, tea half drank slowly cooling.</p>
<p>“I’ll walk yeh out,” Hagrid says, standing from the bed.</p>
<p>Harry blinks at him, wondering where he popped out of. He had completely forgotten about Hagrid, who ruffles Harry’s hair, before opening the door for Severus.</p>
<p>Grabbing his belongings, Harry hesitates a second, then shakes his head. Their fingers brush under Severus' jacket, and Harry grins, causing the man’s lips to twitch upwards.</p>
<p>Hagrid sighs, opening the door wider. Nodding quickly, Severus turns his burning gaze to Harry.</p>
<p>“Be right back,” Hagrid says.</p>
<p>Harry nods. “’Right,” he croaks. “Later.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Hagrid comes back less than twenty minutes later, Harry stands immediately. His stomach dropping just as the man’s contrite expression comes into view. Before he has time to ask what’s wrong, Hagrid shakes his head, shoulders sagging.</p>
<p>“He’s at Dumbledore's,” Hagrid says, lowering his eyes.</p>
<p>“Why? What happened?” Harry is already at the door when the man puts a hand on his shoulder that he immediately shakes off. “What did you do?” he chokes, eyes brimming with tears.</p>
<p>“Go ter ‘im,” Hagrid whispers, sitting on the chair and passing a hand on his beard. “He’ll need that.”</p>
<p>Harry blinks as he leaves, eyeing the main path, his heart in his throat. </p>
<p>
  <em> Is Severus hurt?  </em>
</p>
<p>He walks faster, spraining his ankle and seeing stars before resuming his walk. Breathing through his mouth, Harry coughs a bit, tongue wetting his lips. </p>
<p>
  <em> Please, let him be alright.  </em>
</p>
<p>He’s not sure who he is asking exactly, if it’s the sun, the cicadas or the blowing wind. Doesn’t know if the lake that reflects his image has a mind of its own, or if there are bigger forces at stake. He only knows that, calve muscles cramping and heart thumping in his ears, nothing else matters if the man’s not whole and safe. </p>
<p><em> I care about him, </em>he thinks, swallowing what seems like blood mixed with saliva. </p>
<p>Breathing heavily, Harry sighs in relief when he sees the first expanse of gardens, almost falling forward when he puts his hands on his knees. He grits his teeth when his heart tries to spurt out of his chest.</p>
<p>“Are you alright, love?” An elderly lady approaches, a cane quickly tapping on the ground alongside her feet.</p>
<p>“I will be,” Harry mumbles, coughing.</p>
<p>Hearing the sound of a zip, Harry turns toward her. She lends him a napkin. “Here.”</p>
<p>He takes it gratefully, raising his upper body and taking big gulps of air. He dabs at his whole face and neck, before shoving the napkin in his pocket.</p>
<p>“Sit with me a little,” she says as she takes a seat at the bench, her voice kind but matter-of-fact.</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head vehemently. "No, I have to –” He coughs again.</p>
<p>“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait,” she frowns at him. “Want a grape?”</p>
<p>Laughing, Harry shakes his head no but the lady is already checking inside her purse and taking out a small container.</p>
<p>“I always have some for the squirrels,” she says, offering him one.</p>
<p>Harry plops one in his mouth, moaning at the burst of sweetness. He takes a second.</p>
<p>“You are certainly more grateful than a squirrel,” she notes.</p>
<p><em> Well, I’m a swan, </em>he wants to say, but now is really not the time. He snorts, swallowing before he speaks again. “Thank you. I really have to go now.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” she whizzes, “always rushing. Off with you.”</p>
<p>Harry shrugs, saying his goodbye again. Walking at a more leisured pace, Harry licks his lips, still tasting the grape on his tongue. </p>
<p><em> It’s alright, </em>he says to himself. </p>
<p>He is close now, he only has to turn right to enter the small garden where Dumbledore’s statue majestically stands, surrounded by thick bushes.</p>
<p>Severus is there, back to him. Harry looks, but he already knows what he’ll see. <em> Green, green, leaves </em>bent to the humans' will. He takes a step forward, Dumbledore benevolently looking down at him. Severus stiffens, turning with narrowed eyes, only to gasp slightly as he looks at him.</p>
<p>“Severus?” Harry asks, confused. </p>
<p>He looks whole and fine, much to Harry’s relief.</p>
<p>“Is it true, then?” the man says with a low voice that almost gets lost in the giggles of children playing ball.</p>
<p>Harry frowns, “You mean the leg –”</p>
<p>“I mean you being a bloody swan!” Severus snaps, facing him. </p>
<p>Eyes burn brightly under the man’s scorn.</p>
<p>“I never lied to you,” Harry says, raising his chin.</p>
<p>Severus licks his lips, evading his gaze. </p>
<p>“No, you haven’t.” He faces the shrub again, then shakes his head. “You are too decent to lie,” he whispers.</p>
<p>Harry frowns at that. </p>
<p>“But there are things I haven’t told you,” he says, clearing his throat. “I miss it,” he croaks, staring at the bush where the pond is supposed to be visible. “I miss everything, you know?” Tears well up in his eyes, falling freely. </p>
<p>“The lake, the simpler life, wings to fly.” Swallowing, he looks away. Dumbledore’s shoes have more details that he cared to notice, veinings that resemble real leather shoes. The tips look worn too, small holes in the concrete. </p>
<p>
  <em> Is it done on purpose? </em>
</p>
<p>“But I know I would miss you more,” he chokes, chin trembling. </p>
<p>The next moment there is a breath against his hair and he turns, enveloped in Severus' hug.</p>
<p>“I know,” is whispered against his cheek, and Harry tilts his head. </p>
<p>He doesn’t know what he is asking, though the man seems to know, for he takes a shallow breath and their skins brush, tingling of lips.</p>
<p>Whatever they are, they listened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Exodoi: Swan Song</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
<em><br/>
With shattered boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent,<br/>
I slowly sail, scarce knowning my intent; <br/>
Still scooping up the water with my finger,<br/>
In which a trembling diamond never lingers<br/>
</em> To Charles Cowden Clark. </p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>It all starts, as it happens, with a kiss. </p>
<p>His mother would brush her lips against his forehead, flattening out already flat and straight black hair, and deep frowning lines that shouldn’t have place to exist. A kiss can be a small comfort, an exchange of saliva, or a too wet goodbye. </p>
<p>Sometimes, though, it’s done for lips sake only, because they too need to touch, to feel. Why would humans have lips anyway?</p>
<p>When they kiss, that’s just how it is. He is a curious child again, remembering licking at his own wrist and feeling the heartbeat underneath, slurping at sweated skin and wondering if teeth play a role in this, or is it just spongy tongues joining in all the fun. </p>
<p>It didn’t sound fun at the time, not when he looked down at his own wrist and noticed the small indentations in the skin as well as the string of saliva connecting his wrist and mouth. <em> Too wet, </em>he frowned, thinking of the stupidity of adults.</p>
<p>He now knows it couldn’t be more far off from the truth. Kissing is a sense of belonging, an <em> I’m back, I’m home </em> left unsaid that sometimes transforms into boring routines and forceful smacks of lips. It’s a <em> 'We are supposed to do this, so let’s do it’ </em>type of thing that’s just a prelude or a substitute for sex.</p>
<p>But as he is kissing and being kissed now, he realises he has been doing it wrong all this time. </p>
<p>
  <em> Who knew that I would learn how to kiss by a newly turned mute swan? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Severus sighs as he pushes the clear door open, grunting as it takes a bit of strength to move it. He shakes his head, the woman at the reception raising her eyes for a moment before she turns her attention back to the magazine.</p>
<p>“He’s in a foul mood,” she says dryly as a greeting when he reaches her desk, frowning at her magazine.</p>
<p>Severus sighs at that, “Wonderful.”</p>
<p>“I’m sending good vibes your way,” she calls after he turns to press angrily at the elevator’s button. </p>
<p>He scoffs, cringing at his reflection in the mirror before taking a deep breath and pressing on floor one.  </p>
<p>The room is the fourth down a small corridor. A long blue carpet muffles his steps as he navigates through. He licks his lips, fist hovering on the white door before knocking softly, exactly twice. More is too much.</p>
<p>“Who’s that?” comes a grunt from inside, followed by a thud.</p>
<p>“It’s me,” he says through gritted teeth, fixing the hem of his shirt as a family of three turns to openly stare.</p>
<p>“Who?” the voice calls again, even more confused.</p>
<p>Severus closes his eyes, breathing in through the nose. He knocks two more times, maybe a bit loudly if the way the family looks at him is anything to go by. At this point it is not his concern. </p>
<p>“Me, me,” he says, raising his voice a few notches. “Severus!”</p>
<p>The door opens immediately. Severus breathing harsh and his knuckles whitening.</p>
<p>“Oh, Severus, here you are,” his father says, letting him in and quickly closing the door behind him. “Why don’t you sit, lad? You look a bit shaken.” Tobias says before turning and moving the television cables over the desk.</p>
<p>Severus grits his teeth, hard. </p>
<p>“What are you doing?” he asks, narrowing his eyes, glad the man can’t see.</p>
<p>His father frowns as he shakes the cables some more, pouting his lips. “No need to use that tone with me. I’m your father, not a stranger.”</p>
<p>“How can I forget that?” Severus scoffs, making him turn suspiciously.</p>
<p>“What did you say?” he hisses, cables forgotten, face scrunches up in anger.</p>
<p>Severus swallows, “I said,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “how do you fix that?” he asks, pointing at the tv.</p>
<p>“Oh,” his father says, blinking at the cables again. “I’m not sure yet, I have to figure that out.”</p>
<p>“The telly is turned off,” he says instead, sitting on his father’s bed. It’s soft, which makes the situation he is in extremely ridiculous.</p>
<p>Tobias mutters under his breath. “Be as it may, but it always gives me trouble.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you go to the common room to watch telly with others?” He knows the answer before he asks. <em> Why do I do that?  </em></p>
<p>Severus sometimes thinks he deserves it all, everything that ever happened to him. As his father likes to say, he made regrettable choices only to wallow in self-pity afterward. Because that’s what he knows how to do. Other times the voice is not as loud or as persistent.</p>
<p>Tobias makes a face at that, turning fully. </p>
<p>
  <em> Why is he still in his pyjamas?  </em>
</p>
<p>“Never, I don’t like being around them.”</p>
<p>“You mean old people.” Severus sends the man a knowing look.</p>
<p>“How is it going at the pub?” Tobias asks instead, sitting on the lone chair. His legs spread, hands resting on the handles.</p>
<p>Severus takes a deep breath, piercing blue eyes catching his every word. “Well, it is getting crowded, mostly on the weekends –”</p>
<p> “Your cousin says you are a bit distracted lately. Is it a girl?” Tobias smirks. “It’s high time, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Severus blinks, looking disconcertingly at his hands.</p>
<p>The man guffaws, taking that as assent. </p>
<p>“Oh, you little –” He stands to pat his shoulder. Severus twitches back. “Is she fit?” he asks again, wiggling his eyebrows.</p>
<p>Completely mortified, Severus doesn’t take the bait. “They said you were in a foul mood today, why was that?”</p>
<p>Tobias sighs through his nose, looking annoyed. His grip tightens on Severus' shoulder, before releasing fully. </p>
<p>“You know how they are, Severus. Making up stories –” he trails off.</p>
<p>“And you would be telling the truth?” his son asks, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“They hate me for some reason, I don’t know.” He shrugs, the look of innocence. If Severus were a stranger walking in right that moment, he would believe it. But he, of all people, knows better...</p>
<p>The thing that really upsets Severus is that his father truly believes what he says. As if there are two of him. One that lashes out and the other one who walks on broken pieces, living in ignorance.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you are here, son,” Tobias says, sitting on the bed.</p>
<p>Severus hopes his father doesn’t come any closer, the warmth emanating from the man’s body is already making him uncomfortable. “You do? Last time I visited you thought differently.”</p>
<p>The man frowns, shaking his head.</p>
<p>“You said I shouldn’t have been born,” Severus says with a sigh.</p>
<p>Tobias frowns harder. “Never, no! You must have said something to upset me.” </p>
<p>His father looks troubled for a moment, deep lines showing his true age. Sometimes Severus forgets, with his father’s childish behaviours and tantrums, that he is an old man.</p>
<p>Tobias’ hair is short and grey, eyebrows thick and long and of a matching colour. He shaves daily because he doesn’t want to look unkept, and Severus' hair is always a reason for them to fight. Severus' own existence is a reason for them to fight.</p>
<p>“You always say it is my own fault,” Severus scoffs some more, refusing to show weakness.</p>
<p>“Look,” Tobias says, hands on his legs, “we had our arguments here and there, but it doesn’t change that I love you. You are my own flesh and blood,” </p>
<p>Severus sneers at that. “You do?”</p>
<p>“Of course I do,” Tobias says, chuckling as if that was the world’s most idiotic question. </p>
<p>It probably is. Asking a parent or guardian if they love you can sound like a redundant question in most families. Severus was never sure growing up. His father kept saying <em> I love you. I love you, </em>and then did everything to prove otherwise, with both gestures and words.</p>
<p>Severus is not sure, and he doesn’t think he loves the man back. He knows what it's like to love a parent. The love for his mother burning brighter than the chimney at his grandparents’ house when he visited on weekends. His father’s scornful expressions added fuel to already bittersweet memories.</p>
<p>
  <em> But loving him? Maybe I was never meant to love both. </em>
</p>
<p>Tobias’ “Don’t you love me?” shouldn’t come as a surprise but it does.</p>
<p> Severus can’t answer that truthfully.</p>
<p>“Mmm?” he hums, tilting his head. <em> I can’t look at him. </em>He stares at his boots instead. “Sure.”</p>
<p>The man’s shoulders actually sag in relief.</p>
<p>“I’m gay,” Severus says after a while, shrugging his shoulder in a casual manner.</p>
<p>Tobias’ knuckles whiten and he turns his torso at his son, face turning red. </p>
<p>“What?” he barks.</p>
<p>Severus stands up quickly, walking toward the door. </p>
<p>“I am not coming back,” he adds, hands shaking. “You are a toxic man and I’m not coming back.” </p>
<p>Parts of him feel like crying, but he wasted all his tears when his mother passed, many years ago. His throat feels tight and he instinctively flinches, eyes scrunching up, when his father strides over him, nostrils flaring.</p>
<p>“Explain!” Tobias screams, a vein popping out on his neck. “Come back here, you fucking –”</p>
<p>Severus closes the door behind him, breathing heavily. He jumps a second later when it quivers, a crash on the other side.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says, talking to no one in particular. “Sorry,” he adds again as he looks around, quickly pressing the elevator’s button. </p>
<p>Covering his face, he gasps into his palms, trying to regain control of himself. </p>
<p>
  <em> I am not coming back. </em>
</p>
<p>He rushes out of the elevator, not taking his time to memorise the place. His uncle and cousin will take care of the rest, his father can stay in this home for as long as he likes or they can take him in. Severus doesn’t really care now.</p>
<p>He almost bubbles a laugh as he leaves the building, not genuine glee but pain in the shape of mirth. Throwing a goodbye and another vague “I’m sorry,” at the woman at the desk, he takes gulps of breath.</p>
<p>From afar he sees trees, luring him in. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he steps into the open park, Severus begins breathing easier. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the trimmed and mulched blossoms, whose fragrances follow him way after the mild hill of grass. There are a few loners enjoying the gentle sun with their draped scarves blocking the breeze.</p>
<p>The path stretches low and gentle as he walks, small rocks grinding under his feet. He follows idly, lost in thought, entering the small forest of birches. When his heart returns to a normal pace he stops, leaning his back on a silver trunk.</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s done. It’s done. </em>
</p>
<p>Severus closes his eyes, opening them a second later and blinking at light green leaves. </p>
<p>
  <em> I do not have to return again.  </em>
</p>
<p>This second thought gives him pause and he clutches at the fabric of his pants, a sense of foreboding assaulting him.</p>
<p>He turns, looking around, eyes quickly scanning the trees. </p>
<p>
  <em> There’s nothing there, nothing.  </em>
</p>
<p>Flat palms caress the smooth surface of the trunk, marvelling at the seeming lack of bumps. </p>
<p><em> It’s soft, like …</em>he trails off, unable to finish his sentence. <em> How long has it been since I touched warm, human skin? </em></p>
<p>Resuming his walk, he pats the trunk gently before stumbling on two feet. Severus sniffs the air, going left.</p>
<p>
  <em> Harry. Harry. Harry’s eyes are that green. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry is waiting for him in the clearing, seated on a thick blanket. When Severus barges in, looking lost and confused, his grin fades to a frown.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Harry asks, about to stand up.</p>
<p>Severus stops him with a hand gesture. He squints, looking around, passing a hand through his hair, causing it to go wild. </p>
<p>“I forgot our book, and the stools, I’m afraid –” he trails off, shaking his head. </p>
<p>
  <em> Calm down, Severus. </em>
</p>
<p>“Oh.” Harry brushes his knuckles against his lips. “Sit here with me, it’s a big blanket.”</p>
<p>Swallowing, Severus approaches and kneels on said blanket, feeling the wool underneath.</p>
<p>“It’s soft,” Harry adds, picking at one of the zigzagged edges.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Severus crosses his legs, hands on his thighs.</p>
<p>“Err, we could do something else?” Harry asks, half shrugging, shifting closer. “Like, do you have to read stories or do you remember any? I’d love to hear some.”</p>
<p>Severus takes a deep breath, the events of this morning a far memory as if they happened to someone else, in another galaxy. </p>
<p>
  <em> Is this Harry’s doing?  </em>
</p>
<p>As he feels the warm body near his, legs close enough to touch, he realises belatedly that it’s not human touch or human skin that he misses. </p>
<p>
  <em> It’s him, always him. </em>
</p>
<p>“There are some,” he says slowly. “Though the details are a bit foggy.”</p>
<p>He hears a small sigh and turns to see Harry lay down on the blanket, eyes closed. He scrunches up his own before staring at the basin ahead.</p>
<p>“It’s alright.” Harry smiles, stretching his legs. “You can make up your own.”</p>
<p>Severus laughs, a dry sound that has him swallow a second time. </p>
<p>“I have no idea what it would be about.” Shaking his head, he adjusts his cramping legs.</p>
<p>Harry spreads his hands, palms facing up. Blue veins, like branches, intertwine as they dip in his wrist, and Severus thinks of the trunk of the birch tree and wonders if those veins are as smooth or a bit raised like his own. Green eyes blink at him, lips tilting upwards. </p>
<p>“It could be about a swan,” Harry suggests, snorting.</p>
<p>Severus scoffs without real heat. Yes, he can envision that far too clearly. Unfortunately, Severus would never be part of such a story. </p>
<p>“There is a ballet called <em>Swan Lake,</em>” he whispers, voice drowned out by the breeze. </p>
<p>Such an intimate setting demands for him to lower his voice, so not to disturb its balance. </p>
<p>“It’s the story of a prince who wants to save a maiden from a spell that binds her and others to live as swans during the day and to transform back into humans at night.” </p>
<p>He peers down at Harry to see him completely enraptured in the story. Smiling distractedly, he continues. </p>
<p>“The maidens are victims of a spell by a sorcerer, and the only way to break it is for someone who never loved before to swear everlasting love to one of the maidens.” </p>
<p>Severus takes a moment to compose himself, limbs stiff. Clasping his hands, he considers what to say next. </p>
<p>“The sorcerer casts a spell on his daughter to have her resemble the beloved maiden of the prince, and the prince realises it too late.” He clears his throat, sitting more comfortably and brushing Harry’s hand with his as a result. </p>
<p>He tries to take it away, but Harry quickly holds it, not willing to let go. Unable to look away, his stare remains fixed on the two clasped hands as he continues the story. </p>
<p>“You see, the prince had to choose a bride at the royal ball, and he declares in court that he’ll marry the sorcerer’s daughter, thinking it’s Odette, his beloved. However, by doing so he doesn’t save her and the other maidens from the spell, and, so desperate, he sacrifices himself… ” He blinks, distracted by curious fingers mapping his own.</p>
<p>“He dies?” Harry asks, his thumb brushing Severus' palm, who shifts closer, giving more skin to roam.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he breathes. “He and Odette both.”</p>
<p>Harry turns on his side, nudging Severus forward so that they are both lying on the blanket, facing each other.</p>
<p>“How do you know if you ever loved?” Harry whispers, pushing his hair away from his forehead.</p>
<p>There is a scar, lightning shaped, between his brows. It is angry and it crinkles as Harry frowns, his question unanswered.</p>
<p>Before Severus can really think about what he is doing, he’s tracing the pattern of the scar, the skin bright pink and raised. Harry huffs against his palm, eyelashes tickling Severus' fingers.</p>
<p>He does not have time to feel embarrassed at the gesture, or to remove his wandering hand before Harry curls his lips and the next moment something wet and soft is touching his wrist.</p>
<p>Severus gasps, not believing what is happening. </p>
<p>
  <em> Is he really –?  </em>
</p>
<p>Even his thoughts are as fragmented and as dry as his words. He doesn’t remark on it or question it, he knows Harry has no other reasons to do something like this other than wanting to. </p>
<p>
  <em> Kissing for lips’ sake only because they too need to touch, to feel. </em>
</p>
<p>Harry shifts even closer, their breaths mixing. This time he’s not so caught up by emotions. He knows Harry’s truth, and he’s not considering the implications of having seen the magical pond for himself. There is the silence of the clearing, wool grazing his cheek and a warm body in front of him, whose gaze is just as bright and longing. He gives in.</p>
<p>
  <em> Why would humans have lips anyway? </em>
</p>
<p>It’s less than a brush at first, but lips are trembling and soon open up and it becomes something more. Severus is touching Harry’s hair, messy and wild but softer than wool. A hand slowly trailing from neck to back makes his hair stand on end and he moans into the kiss.</p>
<p>Soon both their chests are touching, the blanket wrinkling at their feet. They stop, and it feels like only moments. Breath ragged, Severus rests his forehead against Harry’s, who blinks at him in a way that makes his already fluttering heart stutter more.</p>
<p>Hands cup the sides of his face, their noses brushing. </p>
<p>“This is a swan kiss,” Harry breathes, eyes crinkling.</p>
<p>“A swan kiss,” Severus repeats with a small voice. </p>
<p>His voice catches in his throat and he cannot say more. Not when Harry is lying on his chest, their hands intertwined, or when they both stand, shaking the blanket of any residual grass. When Harry offers to walk him out, it feels like he wasted his occasion to ask. He can’t bear the answer.</p>
<p>
  <em> Do you want to go back? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Severus doesn’t notice it at first, he is afraid to turn and find the pond still there and visible in the small bushy area. He walks faster, jaw tight and cheeks still rosy from their kissing. Refusing to give in, to acknowledge it, Severus picks up the pace. </p>
<p>It’s Harry, though, who stops. Harry who gasps, holding tightly on his forearm, with people staring curiously at the two of them. Harry licks his lips, urging him toward the statue.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Severus asks, a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>Harry is mouthing something, words not coming out at all. Part of Severus fears he is transforming back in front of him, in the middle of the day and with people watching. </p>
<p>
  <em> It can’t be. </em>
</p>
<p>They reach the statue and he can’t help but glare at the satisfied smile on Dumbledore’s face. </p>
<p><em> You are taking him away from me, </em>he can’t help but think, though he knows how ridiculous and unfair it sounds.</p>
<p>“What is it?” he asks again, perhaps a bit hysterically.</p>
<p>“The pond,” Harry mumbles, eyes glued behind a bush but hand still clutching Severus' shirt. He looks conflicted, as if he can’t believe himself and needs Severus to anchor him. “I can see the pond.” </p>
<p>Eyes brimming with tears, Harry shakes his head. </p>
<p>
  <em> Is he pushing tears away or saying no over and over? </em>
</p>
<p>Severus too feels like crying. It is worse that he can see it too. For some obscure reasons he will be forced to witness losing Harry.</p>
<p>Harry looks at him then, caressing the back of his hand. </p>
<p>
  <em> You are telling the truth. I know you are. </em>
</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Harry,” he tries to say, though he is not sure he manages.</p>
<p>Harry blinks at hearing his own name. </p>
<p>
  <em> Is this the first time I said it?  </em>
</p>
<p>But his expression turns sad for a moment and Severus has to look away, he cannot stand such pity in his eyes.</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” he says again. </p>
<p>
  <em> That sounds a bit like goodbye, doesn’t it?  </em>
</p>
<p>About to disentangle himself from Harry’s grip, he finds the man frowning at him.</p>
<p>“No, can –” He licks his lips, glancing at the pond and then back at him. “Can we talk?” Harry asks, looking around.</p>
<p>Severus does not want to talk, he wants to lie in his bed with the light turned off, claiming a week-long headache. Playing with his food because he lost someone, in a way that goes beyond his weak control. He doesn’t want to talk, but he nods, because a moment more with him is better than leaving now and being eaten alive by regret.</p>
<p>Harry sighs in relief. </p>
<p>“Not here,” he says, quirking his lips.</p>
<p>“Where then?” Severus thinks of his now beloved clearing. Would he willingly taint it with a goodbye?</p>
<p>But Harry merely smiles, eyelashes wet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Upon entering the hut, Severus looks around, immediately on guard. There is only one chair, a dirty glass and a half-eaten biscuit on the table. Harry drops the keys on the kitchen worktop, cringing at the mess inside the sink.</p>
<p>“It’s my duty to clean up. I’m a bit slow,” he says, smiling apologetically.</p>
<p>“It is alright, it’s lived in.”</p>
<p>Harry laughs, grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose in it. “Progress, from <em> liveable.” </em></p>
<p>Shaking his head fondly, Severus doesn’t even have it in him to retort. He only manages a weak “Yes,” as he crosses his arms.</p>
<p>“Do you want some water?” Harry asks after drying his cheeks with the hem of his shirt.</p>
<p>Severus presses his lips together. “Something else?”</p>
<p>Looking confused, his host scratches his ear before staring off at somewhere to his right. “What about milk? Would you like some?”</p>
<p>He raises his eyebrows at Harry’s back when the man turns to fetch two glasses from the shelf. </p>
<p>“What’s the point asking if you already made up your mind?” he says, the tone slightly bitter.</p>
<p>Harry frowns, glasses in hands. </p>
<p>“What?” He shakes his head vehemently. “No, I –” Huffing, he approaches, setting the glasses on the table that separates them. He twists his lips. “I would have asked what you wanted. We have other drinks.” Looking around he chokes a laugh. “But I don’t know where they are.”</p>
<p>Severus' lips thin, heart thumping wildly in his throat. </p>
<p>“What difference does it make? It’s not as if I have a choice, is it?” he hisses, uncrossing his arms. He seeks something to touch, to feel, because he doesn’t know how to stop his hands from trembling.</p>
<p>“What difference does it –? Severus.” Harry narrows his eyes at him, resting his hands on the back of the chair. “Why are you so upset about it? I told you I can off –”</p>
<p>“It’s not about the bloody milk!” Severus very nearly shouts, the palm of his hand hitting the nearby wall. It’s pulsing like crazy now, but at least the trembling stopped.  </p>
<p>Harry takes a shaky breath.</p>
<p>
  <em> Calm the fuck down, Severus. </em>
</p>
<p>“It’s not about the milk,” he croaks, his voice all raspy. Covering his face with one hand, the burning one is clasped tightly on his side. “Don’t you see?” </p>
<p>
  <em> Please, Harry. </em>
</p>
<p>Hearing a sigh, he looks up at Harry, who is hunched over, repressing sobs. Severus' legs almost give out on him in the haste to reach out. </p>
<p> A hand hovers, because <em> what if Harry shakes it off?  </em></p>
<p>But at his tentative whisper, he is soon holding a warm body that is seemingly breaking.</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hold the pieces together,” his mother said after he accidentally broke her favourite mug.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Here.” She gently cupped his hands in hers, showing him. “You need to hold the shape, so we know where it broke and we can fix it.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> At his frown she shook her head, amused.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Of course we can fix it,” she added, rolling her eyes. “But don’t hold it too tightly or you’ll bleed. Then I’ll have two things to fix: your palm and my beloved mug.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> Too late, </em> he wants to say, feeling his eyes prickling. <em> It’s too late for that, Mum. </em></p>
<p>Harry’s face is in the crook of his neck, and Severus is at loss for what to do. Words fail him.</p>
<p>As always it is Harry who knows, who acts. Severus must be the worst specimen of a human being if he needs a swan to teach him the basics of human interaction. Though it must be the lack of social dogmas that allow him to act so openly, freely, <em> uninhibited. </em></p>
<p><em> Don’t go there, Severus, </em>he reprimands himself, breath hitching when Harry’s face gets closer and closer to his own. His hand cups a cheek, lips on his heartbeat at the wrist.</p>
<p><em> If I think this is the last time I can touch your skin… </em> </p>
<p>Severus sighs, drawing the attention to his lips. Their forehead touch, <em> a swan kiss, </em> before, <em> human kiss, </em>their lips do too.</p>
<p>Both slow and tentative at first, the pace of their kiss picks up, so much that Severus has to hold onto the back of the chair, his other hand resting on Harry’s back, pulling him closer.</p>
<p>Hands on Severus' neck, Harry’s fingers gently brush at his nape, making him shiver.</p>
<p>“I think,” Severus breathes, taking a few moments to compose himself, “that we should move to a more comfortable position.”</p>
<p>Harry laughs, kissing his cheek. “The bed?”</p>
<p>Severus swallows, trying to fix this exact moment in his mind so that he doesn’t forget. So that, when he is alone, he can close his eyes and see Harry again, staring at him, as hopeful and affectionate. He breathes in, closing his eyes, mapping Harry’s face with his hands.</p>
<p>“Severus?” It is murmured against his palm, inquisitive and confused.</p>
<p>“For when it’s dark,” he whispers, feeling brave when he doesn’t have to face the root of his pain and his desires. “The bed is a good idea,” he adds, tracing quirking lips.</p>
<p>“Is this some weird human kink?”</p>
<p>Severus, who at the mention of <em> kink </em>felt the first stirrings of arousal, opens his eyes in shock, staring at Harry as if he’s seeing him for the first time.  </p>
<p>“What? It’s just something Lavender said,” Harry says, curling his hands on Severus' wrists and pulling him gently toward the bed. “Don’t look at me like that, I know loads of things.”</p>
<p>“Bluffing,” murmurs Severus, voice dry, when their knees hit the mattress.</p>
<p>Harry blushes, sitting, then Severus does as well, their thighs touching.</p>
<p>“What now, knower of things?” he whispers, breath ghosting on Harry’s neck, making the man’s skin twitch. </p>
<p><em> Ticklish, </em>he thinks, pressing kiss after kiss on that same area.</p>
<p>Harry laughs, open-mouthed, effectively lying down to get away. Severus follows, laying beside him.</p>
<p>It’s like they are in the clearing again, only it feels much different. The sun is still there, only caged inside a window, while the lake, although far away, is probably on both of their minds. There’s no blanket under their bodies, no thrill to be caught or urge to be quick.</p>
<p>Kissing is akin to learning how to swim. The first time, you learn how to stay afloat, you are exhilarated but gentle with your newfound discoveries. The second time, you dive right in with some force, expecting to already do somersaults, but drinking plenty of water as a result. The third time, conscious of what happened the second time, you paddle for a bit, knowing your limit. But the fourth? The fourth, you look at the water, curl your feet in the sand, and start to enjoy the whole experience, which starts the moment you see the shore from afar. </p>
<p>They remove their clothes, kissing but mostly touching revealed skin. Harry’s neck is ticklish, but so is his belly, which jumps when Severus grazes at it with his fingers. Harry seems to have a thing for his hands, either holding them or setting them on his own body. And he does so with an open curiosity that has Severus eager for more. </p>
<p>
  <em> Was I ever like this? </em>
</p>
<p>Harry is blushing, cheek on Severus' forearm, though he doesn’t know why. He is about to open his mouth and reassure him when Harry’s hand, after skimming on his belly, touches him intimately.</p>
<p>Spreading his legs a bit, Severus sighs on the pillow, not remembering the last time someone else’s hands were on him as if they belonged there. </p>
<p>
  <em> Another thing to closely guard, when he is gone.  </em>
</p>
<p>He opens his eyes quickly, the soft caresses on his body both clumsy and eager.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t, all things considered, but Severus is starting to feel cold. </p>
<p>
  <em> He will leave me after this. </em>
</p>
<p>“Harry?”</p>
<p>The hand stops, resting on his hip. Harry’s cheek grazes his arm, breathing deeply before looking up at him. “Was it okay? When I did it on my –”</p>
<p>“More than,” Severus interrupts, trying not to come on the spot, imagining Harry doing all sorts of healthy <em> explorations </em>of his own body. “Come here,” he says, brushing his shoulder.  </p>
<p>Harry does, head resting on his heart. Severus plays with his hair, hand travelling down. They soon resume their kissing, chests touching and legs intertwined. When Severus takes both of them in his hands, Harry gasps, lips parting.</p>
<p>He kisses those lips, swallowing moans that mix with his own. Pumping his hand faster, Severus throws his head back and comes on their bellies, Harry following a few minutes later.</p>
<p>“Woah.” Harry lies beside him, breathing harshly. “Can we do it again?” </p>
<p>His hair curls when sweaty and he has the most relaxed smile on his face. Severus fears he’ll drop dead soon.</p>
<p>He chuckles, good-naturedly. “I don’t think I can, Harry.”</p>
<p>“Another time then,” Harry says as he faces him fully, smile completely disappearing from his face when he realises what he just said. “Or not,” he adds, morosely.</p>
<p>
  <em> You do not have to go, you can stay here with me.  </em>
</p>
<p>Severus knows, for as much as he believes those words, they are not the ones Harry wants to hear. Heart caged in his throat, Severus brushes Harry’s hair away from his face.</p>
<p>“I’m so scared,” Harry mumbles in his palm, his now favourite whispering place. He closes his eyes, scrunching up his face.</p>
<p>
  <em> I am too. A world where you don’t exist.  </em>
</p>
<p>“You’ll be alright. The lake awaits you,” Severus says, voice less than a whisper. He tries to smile but he doesn’t think he manages, not from Harry’s telling expression.</p>
<p>“I’ll miss you,” is whispered in his wrist. </p>
<p>Severus' heart, eager for a touch, beats faster.</p>
<p>
  <em> How many encouraging words can one say before they start to fall flat? </em>
</p>
<p>He tries one, “I will be there for you,” and “I will never forget.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, making sense of them more than Severus does. </p>
<p>“I know you will,” he says, blinking at the ceiling. “I will too.”</p>
<p>If this is how it’s going to end, Severus has no wish to participate. Disentangling his arm from under Harry’s head, he sits, giving his back to him. Rummaging for his clothes, he checks the time on his watch. Two pm.</p>
<p>Harry kisses his shoulder. “Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“I have things to do, work,” he says, with a tone he barely recognises. Almost on autopilot, Severus stands, waking into the bathroom to wash up.</p>
<p>For whatever reason, he almost expects Harry to knock on the door, demanding explanations. And he is upset at himself for hoping that he will. When he exits the room, Harry is still in bed, seated, the duvet pooling at his lap. Cheeks are of a healthy flush, eyes blinking rapidly at him.</p>
<p>“You are not coming back.” </p>
<p>It is not a question, nor an accusation.</p>
<p>Severus shakes his head. “Neither you are.”</p>
<p>Harry makes a face at that. “I wish it wouldn’t end like this.” Shaking his head, he plays with the sheet, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It will be tonight.” He raises his head again, chin held high. Severus would chuckle at that expression if he was not fighting tears. “I have to say goodbye to Hagrid,” he sniffs, shoulder shaking.</p>
<p>
  <em> What about me? Is this it? </em>
</p>
<p>Severus dresses slowly as Harry tries not to cry. When he is finally ready, he clears his throat.</p>
<p>As though just noticing his presence, Harry gasps, opening his mouth to talk.</p>
<p>Severus nods quickly, not willing to listen, whatever it is.</p>
<p>“Come tonight, when the park closes.”</p>
<p>“What?” Severus frowns, not sure he heard right.</p>
<p>“To the pond, when I go back.”</p>
<p>Stomach dropping, Severus' jaw quivers.  “Wha –? I can’t see the pond.”</p>
<p>Harry smiles, eyes bright. “It doesn’t matter. Come tonight, stay with me.”</p>
<p>“No,” he says quickly. “I –”</p>
<p>Harry jerks his head. “Alright, alright. I get it.”</p>
<p>Walking backward, Severus hits his legs on the chair near the bed. </p>
<p>
  <em> Please don’t cry or I will as well.  </em>
</p>
<p>Is this truly the end, or it was supposed to go from the start? Severus can’t bear to think about it, but as Harry’s eyes well up with tears he realises there’s not much he can bear right now. </p>
<p>Nodding quickly, he says, “I will, I’ll come,” almost regretting the words a moment later. </p>
<p>
  <em> Do I truly wish to self-flagellate? </em>
</p>
<p>“Really?” Harry smiles, standing quickly and almost tripping on the sheets as he hugs him.</p>
<p>“Really,” Severus says, knot in his throat. </p>
<p>
  <em> It will kill me. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry undresses. His fingers tremble as he tries to unbutton his too-large shirt, tongue peeking out with the effort. Severus approaches and helps, though his own hands refuse to cooperate. </p>
<p>Why is that? Harry wanted him here, today. He wanted to say goodbye properly. </p>
<p>His reasons are selfish at best, though he can barely admit them to himself. When will he get to touch more of Harry’s human skin, to breathe in the smell of his body? </p>
<p><em> Never again, </em>Severus muses bitterly, because there won’t be more human skin left when this is over. The most difficult part, which Severus categorically refuses to consider, is that maybe Harry’s memories will be gone too.</p>
<p> He won’t remember him.</p>
<p>Still undressing in front of him, pale moonlight illuminates Harry’s body as it dips into the pond behind him. A vision to behold. If only this were a dream, one he could relive night after night like a scene from a film, drinking in all the details over and over. <em> I would consume the tape.  </em></p>
<p>But such a thing does not exist, there’s no safe space to store his memories, one where he could dip in them on nights like this when nostalgia claws at his throat. No, the mind is a vile thing and the vision he is witnessing now is already blurry as is. That’s his own treacherous eyes.</p>
<p>Harry is now gently holding Severus' hands in his, and he wonders when that touch became so familiar, so much that he does not blink at the contact. </p>
<p>There was even a time when he thought the simplest touch would burn Harry’s skin, a marble statue being corroded by an eager hand. But no blackish yellow marks adorn Harry’s skin. He’s warm tissues, strong bones, and, as Severus' hand curls around Harry’s wrist, a dancing heartbeat. </p>
<p><em> He is nervous too.</em> A human trait he certainly cannot wait to leave behind.</p>
<p>Harry smiles at him, a small thing that Severus desperately has to kiss away.</p>
<p>“I have to get ready,” breathes Harry with a laugh when they separate.</p>
<p>“Yes, you do,” says Severus reluctantly, voice shakier than it has any right to be. </p>
<p>He blinks at the moonlight, thinking of easier days as Harry’s clothes pool at his feet. But Harry doesn’t take any further steps, he’s still anchored to Severus like a zigzagged hook, like his scar. Harry doesn’t want to let it go either.</p>
<p>Severus would entertain him with stories, Harry’s malleable mind riveted by the notion of tales being shared over a blanket of grass. When he later inquired about more, more stories, Harry was amused to discover that some fairy tales end with transformed beings choosing humanity so that they can be with the person they love.</p>
<p>Severus, despite his selfish desires, cannot ask that of him. Harry has already lost so much and his human experience was just an item to cross off a list. </p>
<p>He knows Harry is not made for this world. He is too pure, too kind. Human emotions confuse his soul and clothes constrict his body.</p>
<p>Harry laughs, the water lapping at his feet on the shore. </p>
<p>“I really have to go now.” He swallows, naked body hugging Severus' clothed one.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Severus clears his throat, breath catching as he takes again a few steps back to look at Harry. </p>
<p><em> Perfect, </em> he thinks. Harry quirks his lips, having heard it. <em> I said it aloud. I should leave now before I make a fool out of myself and say other things I will regret later. </em></p>
<p>Severus closes his eyes, willing his mouth to stop trembling. A hand brushes against his cheek, bright green eyes caressing his whole face. A finger traces the shape of his nose before both hands hold his face gently, Harry’s forehead against his. </p>
<p><em> This is a swan kiss, </em>Harry told him what feels like years ago.</p>
<p>Harry breathes deeply, eyes closed, so Severus closes his too, chin quivering of his own accord. </p>
<p>
  <em> Please, please, please, for the love of – </em>
</p>
<p>Tilting his head to the side, Harry’s cheek grazes his, their lips and ears touching. Severus holds Harry’s nape gently and sends a kiss to his neck, the skin twitching. Harry’s laugh is ticklish against Severus' own neck, and he bites his lips hard, willing emotions to hold strong for a bit longer, until Harry leaves.</p>
<p>They separate at last. Harry blinks at him, the outlines of his body blurring. </p>
<p>
  <em> It is time.  </em>
</p>
<p>Shaking his head at himself, Severus nods, at last, hands twitching on his sides.</p>
<p>
  <em> I have to let you go.  </em>
</p>
<p>He hears a small splash, and the next moment Harry is turning, wading through the water. </p>
<p>
  <em> I wish I were liquid so I could have you one more time.  </em>
</p>
<p>His legs carry him forward, hands hovering on the surface of the pond.</p>
<p>Severus swallows, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them. </p>
<p>
  <em> There is nothing to hold anymore. </em>
</p>
<p>Turning, Harry stretches his hands as the water laps at his midriff. </p>
<p><em> They will prune soon, </em> Severus thinks distractedly, taking a step forward. They will prune so much that Harry will marvel at his fingertips and start nibbling the skin. Severus chuckles, but it comes out hoarse like the croak of a crow, lonely and lost without someone to call its own.</p>
<p>Harry frowns at him, his hands creating a well in the water. He’s looking at his hands, probably staring at fish.</p>
<p>
  <em> I have no one else. </em>
</p>
<p>Moving closer, Severus grits his teeth. </p>
<p><em> Why do I have to let you go? </em> </p>
<p>He blinks only when water starts lapping at his shoes. He leaves them on for this, he’ll need something to hold his body down when the current gets too much.</p>
<p>“Severus?” Harry gasps. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>He stumbles on a rock rippling the surface. “Nothing. I’m – cannot stay there and –” he trails off, body heavy and clothes collecting water.</p>
<p>“You’ll get your clothes wet,” Harry frowns, approaching.</p>
<p>“I’ll ask Hagrid to lend me some,” Severus replies with a small smile, Harry’s hand brushing the hem of his soaked shirt.</p>
<p>Laughing, he lays both hands on Severus' shoulders. “It’s late, he’ll be at home.” Harry quirks his lips, looking intently at the man’s neck.</p>
<p>Severus sighs, knuckles grazing Harry’s chin. His feet squelch when he takes another step forward. </p>
<p>“He’s at the hut,” he breathes, Harry’s hands travelling to his neck, and cheek leaning into his touch.</p>
<p>“Probably.” Harry licks his lips. Inhaling shakily, he chokes “Sev –,”</p>
<p>“Ssh …” Severus tuts, his heart crushing to a million pieces. “It’s alright,” he manages to say, the pond eerily quiet. He looks left, eyeing the willow tree. “I’ll be fine.” He nods, more for Harry’s sake than his own. </p>
<p>
  <em> Please don’t go. </em>
</p>
<p>“That’s – okay, okay.” Harry nods too, tears stream freely on his cheeks, wetting Severus' hands too.</p>
<p><em> I don’t blame them, </em>Severus thinks. He kisses them, salty and sweet, tongue darting out to catch every drop.</p>
<p>“Stop this,” Harry whispers, scratching at his chest. “Don’t –”</p>
<p>Their lips hover against each other, a sob and a harsh gasp kissing in lieu of skin.</p>
<p>“Let me go,” Harry whispers, putting some distance between them. “You promised,” he adds in a small voice.</p>
<p>“Yes, I know,” Severus answers, just as softly. “And I will.” He takes a step back, feeling ridiculous with his soaked clothes, cold air nibbling at his skin. </p>
<p>
  <em> I don’t want to leave you.  </em>
</p>
<p>Severus squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as Harry forms another well. Water drips on wrists and arms and he licks at his palms, catching the water that survived the short journey from the pond to lips.</p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t look at this.  </em>
</p>
<p>Fists clasped underwater, Severus swallows, heart fluttering wildly in his throat. </p>
<p>
  <em> You are killing me. </em>
</p>
<p>Harry collects some more water, hands trembling and jaw tight. His cheeks are now dry.</p>
<p>
  <em> You wear your heart on your sleeve, and me… mine’s stuck in my throat. </em>
</p>
<p>Severus stares at the quivering shape of the moon reflected in the small basin. </p>
<p>
  <em> I want to keep you. In… in whatever capacity.  </em>
</p>
<p>He sniffs, legs jerking in the water. </p>
<p>
  <em> It’s getting cold. </em>
</p>
<p>A cough interrupts his musings, so he turns concerned eyes at Harry, who is scratching at his throat.</p>
<p>“Are you –?” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence and his jaw spasms. He hisses, cupping his cheek hard. </p>
<p>
  <em> What the –? </em>
</p>
<p>“Sev?” Harry asks, close enough to hear but voice so distant and foreign. “You alright?” Clearing his throat he touches Severus' arm, removing his hand a second later with a small gasp.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Severus says, voice no more than a warble. He cups his forehead with the other hand, feeling a bump under his palm. </p>
<p>
  <em> Did I hit something? </em>
</p>
<p>Harry shows him his hands, fingers stuck to each other and no more distinct. Gone are the nails, the skin covered by white, fine hair. Shaking his head, Harry stretches his neck upward, releasing a small snort.</p>
<p>“It’s happ –” Severus tries to say, his tongue refusing to collaborate.</p>
<p>Harry looks at him then, eyes now of a brown colour. Hair is also receding from his hairline, and right under his forehead, a small bump has appeared, similar to Severus' own.</p>
<p>Stomach dropping, Severus tries to pass his lips through his teeth but feels a small grizzle instead. </p>
<p>
  <em> Am I –? </em>
</p>
<p>“I drank –” Harry croaks, human words failing him. He shakes his head, growing anxious by the minute as he stares at Severus slowly transforming.</p>
<p><em> I drank the water, </em> Harry probably meant to say. <em> I thought that’s how it worked, </em>he would have added next if he still had words to speak and a mouth that didn’t lengthen in the shape of an orange beak.</p>
<p>Severus snorts, a sound so foreign but familiar. He’s weirdly calm about this, despite his neck hurting and stretching to capacity. When he turns his neck, Harry is still there, as beautiful and as pure as he has always been, his skin a blanket of white.</p>
<p>Shaking his body and human mind slipping, Severus wonders, while his brain still ruminates and whirls. </p>
<p><em> Would I choose this? Heck no, </em>he thinks, fluffing his newfound wings.</p>
<p>
  <em> But you?  </em>
</p>
<p>It echoes in his head, small ripples of consciousness. </p>
<p>
  <em> I’d choose you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Epilogue</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
<em><br/>
how horrid was the chance of slipping into the ground<br/>
instead of into your arms - <br/>
the difference is amazing Love.<br/>
</em>Letter to Fanny Brawne, March 1820.</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>Severus curls his neck, peering around curiously. He is in a small basin, eerily quiet but for nocturnal animals calling their similar. A frog croaks somewhere on his right near the shore, while crickets chirp happily at their songs. What woke him? The sun is not out yet, and as he inspects the pond carefully by skimming toward the centre, he notices leaves afloat on the surface.</p>
<p>
  <em>Water-lilies.</em>
</p>
<p>Continuing his paddle, Severus sees weeds hanging from a tree on his left, but he swims on, disinterested. Why is he awake? What woke him? He soon finds himself in the lake where the water is comforting and not as cold as it is in the connected pond. He’ll find a nice place to sleep now. How did he end up in the pond anyway?</p>
<p>The lake is occupied by a mated couple. Severus remains alert, looking left and right attentively, though they are probably nesting, and he is not very worried about stumbling into them now. Still, he can’t see very well, and it’s dark, so he has to be careful. His webbed feet move him to the other side of the lake, and while he is quite fast, he can’t help but think that he could have stayed where he was and not waste his energies by swimming further. Severus is not a very patient swan, never has been. When he was a cygnet… <em>was he</em> a cygnet? He <em>must</em> have been. Swans do not blossom out of thin air, already adults. All species go through stages, why would it be different for him? For swans, in particular?</p>
<p>He’s trying to remember if he lost his flock, because he woke up alone. Did they leave?</p>
<p>
  <em>Everyone leaves me.</em>
</p>
<p>And isn’t that a peculiar thought coming from a mature swan? Severus continues his swim, but then another thought assaults him, stronger than the first one: why isn’t he using his wings? He flaps them just to make sure. Why does the mere idea of wings confuse him? Severus has wings, he checked just now. All swans have wings. Why does flying sound like such a weird concept?</p>
<p>When he curls his neck more and sees the tree, Severus starts to waggle his tail.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tree. I like this tree. Nice.</em>
</p>
<p>But then, as he is about to approach, he notices another swan nearby. Immediately on guard, he starts to raise his wings, neck tucked, ready for a fight.</p>
<p><em>Enemy, </em>his mind screams, <em>enemy.</em></p>
<p>The other swan comes closer insistently snorting at him, and Severus hisses, starting a bucking display to warn it off. The other’s wing display is just as aggressive as it approaches. It’s a cob, but Severus can’t see if he is bigger. He has to be careful if he doesn’t want to end up underwater, never having fought with another cob before.</p>
<p>Never? Severus is five years old already, how is it possible that he never had to protect his territory? Maybe… maybe where he lived before was safe. <em>Never, never safe. Here is safer. </em></p>
<p>When they get closer, Severus lowers his wings immediately and the other does too. He bobs his head, acknowledging the other swan. <em>Mate, mate, this is my mate. </em>He then proceeds to cough softly in greeting as his mate rubs bill and neck against his.</p>
<p>
  <em>Harry, I missed you.</em>
</p>
<p>Severus turns and their bills bump into each other awkwardly. Weird, he expected their greeting to be different and the bill is a bit in the way of what he had in mind, but rubbing is nice too. His mate – <em>Harry, Harry </em>– grunts, lowering his head before their foreheads touch. <em>This is a swan kiss</em>, passes between them as they look at each other.</p>
<p>
  <em>Harry, I missed you.</em>
</p>
<p>It is very late so they go to sleep, bills tucked under their wings, near a beautiful alder in bloom.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day Severus is patrolling the south area of the lake, making sure there are no intruders around, when he notices humans near the bank, a bit far off from where he left Harry to tend things. A girl, small for her species, is throwing chunks of bread around to some ducks, who quack interestedly.</p>
<p>
  <em>Weaklings.</em>
</p>
<p>Severus approaches the ducks, some of them moving out of the way and those who don’t get pecked hard until they do. <em>He</em> is a swan and <em>they</em> are lesser beings. When the girl notices him, she gasps softly, throwing a bigger chunk of bread on his body. Severus hisses in warning, approaching the shore.</p>
<p>
  <em>Humans are bad, dangerous.</em>
</p>
<p>Was he hurt by humans? Severus doesn’t remember much, but he certainly remembers humans near him. Was he raised by humans? Impossible, he is a mute swan, what does he have to do with humans?</p>
<p>As he hops on the shore to preen himself, the girl comes closer so he hisses some more, ready to peck at her fragile human skin if she tries anything funny.</p>
<p>For whatever reason, she starts to cry, and Severus wobbles away, annoyed by the noise.</p>
<p>“Yeh!” a voice calls, making Severus curl his neck.</p>
<p>It is a human adult, male, very big and very tall but Severus doesn’t feel threatened at all by him, despite his size. He knows this voice.  </p>
<p>“Severus?” the man asks, swearing under his breath. He scratches at his beard, laughing nervously at inquisitive eyes. “I gave them all a name, yeh see,” he grunts, sighing in relief when people do not comment further.</p>
<p>“Severus!” Hagrid hisses while he resumes his bath. “I was worried, Severus, fer yeh and Harry both.” At hearing Harry’s name, Severus blinks at the man before giving his attention back to his feathers. “Found yer clothes, yeh know? I knew about him, but –” He sniffs loudly, and Severus decides it is time to stretch his legs now. He does the left and then the right. “It breaks me heart, but I’m happy fer yeh two.” The man’s shoulders are positively shaking now.</p>
<p>When the man kneels to better observe him, Severus hops back, unsure of what the man’s intentions are. “Yer so handsome,” Hagrid says in awe.</p>
<p>He tilts his neck to the side, wobbling back toward the water.</p>
<p>“I’ll keep an eye on yeh!” the man calls when he gets back in water, waggling his tail. <em>I love water.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Severus drops a nice little twig near his mate, so he can inspect it attentively. They are in the agreed site, on the bank of the undisturbed pond where no one can bother them, neither humans, nor other swans. They were looking for some safe place near their beloved tree, but the area looked dangerous and noisy, what with humans interfering and whatnot, so they picked this one instead. Harry nudges Severus’ chosen twig with his bill, then grabs it and throws it a few meters away, unconvinced.</p>
<p>Severus wobbles away, examining the area to check if there are other twigs he can use and that his mate will deem appropriate. When he finds another one, he knows his mate will sure like it so he’s a bit surprised, and annoyed, when Harry throws the other twig away without sparing it a glance.</p>
<p>
  <em>Does my mate not like the twigs I provide for him?</em>
</p>
<p>Severus is confused. Everything has to be perfect, he knows, and of course all pieces of twigs and moss have to be of the perfect shape and size to accommodate… to accommodate something. Severus only knows they are doing something very important, and have to be careful in their choosing. Pulling off strands of reed mace from the pond, Severus turns around to pass it to Harry for inspection, who then places it in the appropriate position.</p>
<p>
  <em>His mate likes it, he likes it!</em>
</p>
<p>Rattling low in his throat, he shows his mate just how happy he is that this last product was picked. Looking around interestedly, he finds some more plant material to pass before his mate gets bored and they reverse their roles.</p>
<p>As Severus beds down the compression of their nest with some grass so that it is warm and soft, he raises his head to look around. He’s been here before, the night past, but there is something peculiar about this area, something ethereal.  </p>
<p>Harry stops passing him material when he notices his mate has stopped working, instead turning his neck left and right. As their necks rub together affectionately, he grunts effectively bringing Severus’s attention back to the task at hand.</p>
<p>Standing by the nest, they continue adding more and more moss, then Severus finds big twigs to put around the compression in order to protect it better. When everything has been added, they slope the sides of the cup to allow easy access inside.</p>
<p>Harry looks at it critically, while Severus wobbles around it, neck s-shaped. <em>It is done! Nest is done!</em></p>
<p>He stares at his mate and thinks of the first time he laid eyes on him. Was it in a flock amid other swans? Or did they casually meet on a field, or in the water? Something in his mind niggles at him that it was on land, no other birds around. On land, in the clearing where the alder is located.</p>
<p>They met casually at first, and Severus was probably on his guard, wings fluffed up, because his mind went, who<em> is this stranger swan talking to me?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Talking?</em>
</p>
<p>Swans do not talk, but they do make all sorts of noises. They hiss, mostly. But talk? Humans talk, <em>and while there are similarities between animal sounds and the human speech, nothing in research suggests that the two things are related, or that one originates from the other.</em></p>
<p>Severus hops in the water, feeling a bit off. Did this come from his own mind? How can he know such things, being a swan?</p>
<p>He can’t remember growing up as a cygnet, nor following a flock. Nor does he remember ever courting his mate, though it’s obvious they are mated.</p>
<p>
  <em>What happened?</em>
</p>
<p>There is a splash, and his mate approaches, paddling beside him. <em>Is it true, Harry, that I wasn’t born a swan</em><em>? </em>He peeps pitifully, an unusual sound for an adult swan, but familiar. His mate’s head comes to rest on top of his own and Harry makes soft calls, like a parent does to a newborn cygnet.</p>
<p>
  <em>It is alright, Severus. I’m here.</em>
</p>
<p>The sound reverberates into the clearing, and Severus relaxes minutely at that. If his mate says it’s alright, then it truly is. <em>Who would know best other than a born mute swan?</em></p>
<p>Dipping his head in the water, Harry preens him, so Severus does too, their movements soon synchronised. They stare at each other, breasts touching and necks gracefully lowered. From his mate's sideways stare, Severus really knows he is alright. Everything is well.</p>
<p><em>I trust you, </em>he thinks, the human mind slowly dissipating into the bottom of the pond. Their necks intertwine, and Severus drapes his own over Harry’s as they go over the mating ritual.</p>
<p>
  <em>I choose you.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They go to sleep by the nest, and in the next few days Severus keeps visiting their chosen space, adding more twigs, more moss, more everything. <em>It has to be perfect.</em></p>
<p>And when the nest is complete, they wait. For what? Neither of them knows. They are a pair of cobs, they can’t lay eggs nor latch them. But the nest is part of their ritual, like their mating is.</p>
<p>
  <em>It truly is alright. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“What about other stories? They always end like this?” Harry mumbles against his chest.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Severus sighs, making Harry look up. “You mean with people dying dramatically into each other's arms?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Harry grins, blushing. “Yes, exactly it.” He stands, bringing Severus’ hand on his lap and playing with it. “I can’t believe that all stories with transformed humans end in such a way.”</em>
</p>
<p><em>Severus decides there and then not to mention Ovid’s </em>Metamorphoses<em>. Smiling, he curls his hand around Harry’s finger as he listens to the sounds around them. “No, not always like this,” he muses, staring at the lake.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Harry pulls at his hand to grab his attention. “Then how? Tell me?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Happily ever after,” Severus mutters.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Harry frowns. “What?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Happily ever after.” He scoffs. “A small sop to sweeten the pill for a story’s ending, and the characters’ inevitable death.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Well, we will die eventually,” says Harry with an exaggerated shrug.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Severus laughs, shaking his head fondly. This is one of Harry’s favourite human gestures and any excuse is a good one to make use of it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You are overdoing it again,” says Severus gently.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Oh, like this?” asks Harry, shrugging one more time, his shoulders almost touching his earlobes through his clothes.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Exactly like this.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Well, then.” Harry smiles, his second favourite human gesture. Severus will never get used to it, to the way his stomach jumps and his throat constricts. For whatever reason, his eyes prickle and he feels like crying, but Harry is there with him, he has no reason to cry. Harry’s smile is still there, through Severus’ rummaging, as unfaltering as it is pure. No remorseful lines in between his eyebrows, no nostalgia caressing his cheeks.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He knows Harry is waiting. And like someone checking their existence in front of a glass, moving limbs and wrinkling skin, Severus does the only possible thing – he smiles back. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title comes from the first sonnet of Shakespeare, <em>From fairest creatures we desire increase. </em></p>
<p>All quotes for each part are from John Keats.</p>
<p>Books Severus reads to Harry (in order of appearance, edition/translation used mentioned below):<br/>Franz Kafka, <em>The Metamorphosis and other stories, </em>Oxford World’s Classic 2009, Translation by Joyce Crick.<br/>Niccolò Machiavelli, <em>The Prince, </em>Penguin Classics 2009, Translation by Tim Parks.<br/>Antoine de Saint−Exupery, <em>The Little Prince, </em>Egmont 2019, Translation by Richard Howard.<br/><em>Swan Lake, </em>ballet composed by Tchaikovsky between 1875 and 1876.</p>
<p>Paintings which inspired this:<br/>Palizzi, <em>Forest of Fontainebleau</em><br/>Marco Calderini: <em>Statue solitarie </em>and <em>Tristezza invernale</em><br/>Monet: <em>Water-lilies </em>(all of 250)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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